


The Inevitability of Caring

by GloriousBlackout



Series: Brothers in Arms [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Friendships, Gen, Growing Old Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Sam Wilson, Sam-Centric, SamCap, Team Bonding, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousBlackout/pseuds/GloriousBlackout
Summary: A series of snapshots into the developing friendship between Sam and Bucky following the events of Civil War





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can act as a sequel to my previous story Aftermath, however it hopefully works on its own as well. I've grown fond of writing for Sam and his growing relationship with Bucky is fun to explore, hence me returning to them so soon. I have ideas for the following chapters so hopefully I'll be able to upload them fairly quickly.  
> I hope you enjoy this and, as always, any feedback is appreciated!

In the week following Bucky's awakening, Sam sees very little of him.

It makes a stark contrast to the weeks beforehand, where he would often spend his nights in the medical bay with the other man as his silent, sleeping companion; taking advantage of the quiet to vent about things he didn't feel comfortable sharing or simply listening to music without fear of disturbing anyone. Such ventures had been preferable to sleeping on a mattress that was far too soft in an area of the palace that was never truly quiet, and he'd tried to pretend for a long time that Bucky was there purely as decoration, and that he didn't find comfort in the illusion of having someone else with him.

Since he was awoken, however, Bucky has taken to staying in the medical bay rather than relocating to the guest suite where everyone else has been set up, and thus Sam's reason for going there in the dead of night has been eliminated. Not that he minds particularly – it's probably about time he tried to return to a regular sleep schedule – but it does mean that he is in the odd position of seeing Bucky a lot less now than he had when the man had been unconscious.

When he does see him, it's generally in passing. Mindless wanders around the palace during the hotter hours of the day occasionally have him walking past his old haunt, and more than once he spots Steve and Bucky deep in conversation inside the med-bay, or him undergoing a medical assessment, or simply snatching a moment alone by the large windows that line the corridor outside the med-bay.

Like now, for instance. It's mid-morning when Sam stumbles upon Bucky sitting by himself, curled up by the window overlooking the grounds. He's wearing the same style of white scrubs he's had since he was placed in cryo, despite the fact that both Steve and T'Challa have looked out normal clothes for him, and that alongside his soft, distracted expression seems to make him look disconcertingly young.

It occurs to Sam that this is as far as Bucky ever gets. He's content to sit curled up on the windowsill, feeling the breeze against his face and watching the world go by, but Sam has yet to see him venture beyond the palace walls. He doesn't even seem to have explored much of the palace itself, preferring the quiet sphere of rooms surrounding the med-bay. Not that Sam's checking or anything.

He sighs and decides to stop creeping silently in the background and announce himself. He takes a few steps towards the window and clears his throat, feeling only slightly guilty when the sound causes Bucky to jump out of his reverie. The other man relaxes quickly enough that Sam feels comfortable joining him, taking a seat by the window and following Bucky's gaze out onto the grounds below.

It's a sight he still isn't used to. The grounds are massive, with green fields stretching out for miles and tall city skyscrapers just visible on the horizon. Off to the left, a lake sparkles under the morning sun, with small streams running down from the surrounding forests and mountains seeming to bleed into its still waters. A wide road lined with trees leads from the palace to the city beyond and, directly beneath their window, Sam can see a training session between the Dora Milaje taking place in the court.

On the opposite side of the palace the views are somehow even more impressive, with sprawling green forests being guarded by ferocious statues which bear their King's namesake, and Sam has spent many hours simply staring at the world beyond the window, half-expecting the illusion to melt away at any moment.

There's a calm breeze drifting in through the open window and Sam closes his eyes and drinks it in while he still can, before the afternoon sun sends everyone in search of shade for fear of burning. He takes in the sounds of sparring in the court, knowing that it won't be long before the guards finish their training and resume their duties. He remembers his own time spent in that court, training with Clint and Scott and Natasha in preparation for a fight that inevitably lies in their future, although against whom he cannot say.

He opens his eyes again and finally brings himself to look at the man opposite him, not failing to notice the longing in his eyes. It hits Sam then that it must suck to be so afraid of hurting others that you'd refuse yourself even the luxury of going outside.

"I'll show you around sometime," he says, causing Bucky to look towards him with barely masked confusion on his face. "If you'd like, that is."

He's more surprised than he should be to see that Bucky seems to be considering his offer seriously, seemingly indecisive over whether to focus his attention on the forbidden outdoors or the man sitting before him. "I can't. Not right now."

"I know," Sam says, and he gets it though he wishes he didn't. "But the offer's open if you want it. Maybe when you're better."

Bucky huffs out a laugh at that, and Sam finds himself smiling too. They're talking as if Bucky merely has the flu; as if his recovery will be a simple process completed within a matter of days rather than the long haul it promises to be. They have something approaching a plan in order to pry Hydra's remaining influence out of Bucky's mind, but they're both aware that it's unlikely to be an easy process, let alone a successful one.

He imagines that if all their methods fail then Bucky will simply insist on going back in the ice to rot if need be, and Sam doubts that any of them are happy about the possibility of being dragged back to square one. Steve especially.

He isn't sure how long they continue to sit in silence; all he knows is that when he finally comes back to himself the court below them is empty and the sun hangs directly overhead. Sam unfurls himself from his awkward seating position on the windowsill, cringing slightly as his joints crack, and extends a hand to Bucky as soon as he's upright. The other man looks down at the proffered hand with furrowed brows, looking like one might when presented with a complicated maths equation.

"Come on, Terminator," Sam says, getting an eye-roll in response to the nickname. "I'd be a bad friend if I let you just mope around here on your own. Or a bad friend of a friend in your case."

Bucky stubbornly holds his ground, looking as if he's just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world, and Sam can't pretend he's not a little put-out by the other man's resistance.

He gives an exaggerated huff which has the desired effect of eliciting a smirk from Bucky before continuing. "Look, when you were asleep, I promised I'd show you some movies and we have nothing better to do. You can stay here if you want, but if not I'll be in the lounge in the guest suite."

He turns to leave, resisting the urge to look back as he wanders along the corridor leading back to the main body of the palace. It takes less time than he expects for surprisingly light footsteps to catch up to him, and he tries not to smile as Bucky makes his way to his side. As they continue to walk, thankfully only passing a few, uncaring guards, Sam wonders if Bucky had even seen this much of the palace before now.

They don't speak much before finally reaching the entertainment lounge, merely taking a few moments to establish that Bucky, despite being familiar with the existence of Star Wars, hasn't actually seen any of them. Sam spends much of the remaining journey trying to silently contain his excitement over finally being able to see someone's genuine reaction to the films, and Bucky doesn't seem to be in the mood for small-talk, so they make it to their destination having only shared about twenty words.

"All right, we're going to watch the original trilogy of Star Wars and then I'm afraid you're trapped," Sam says as he throws himself onto the couch and scrolls through the built-in movie database on the TV. Bucky hesitates for only a few moments before taking a seat in the adjacent armchair, looking slightly out of place in his white medical scrubs. "I've made a list."

Bucky screws up his face in mock objection, but it doesn't take long for a small tell-tale smile to grace his lips. "How long is this list?"

"Not too long. I've tried to stick to the classics," Sam replies, deciding not to mention that he's added a fair few guilty pleasures as well. "The only problem is that you've missed seven decades worth of classics."

He doesn't miss the resigned expression on Bucky's face at that, but the man relaxes back in his chair quickly enough and turns his attention to the TV screen. "Go on, then."

Sam will reflect later that he should probably find it odd that he can casually sit back and introduce classic movies to one of the most dangerous ex-assassins in the world, but in the moment the afternoon feels remarkably normal. He tries not to be too annoying as the events of A New Hope play out onscreen, even though he could probably quote the entire movie if he wanted to, and he feels more than a little pride when he looks over to find Bucky becoming increasingly engrossed as time goes by.

When the credits finally roll and his companion turns to him and says "Please tell me there's another one," Sam knows that his work is done.

It doesn't take long to locate and start watching Empire, and Sam takes extra care this time to say as little as possible for fear of giving anything away. He's probably being incredibly obnoxious in the way he's constantly looking over to Bucky to judge his reactions, but thankfully the other man seems to be too invested to care about his surroundings.

The benefits of this make themselves especially clear as they approach the pivotal scene and Sam turns all attention away from the screen to the man in the armchair beside him, keeping watch for even the tiniest of reactions. He'd been cheated out of being able to react to this scene himself when he was five and his dad had accidently spoiled the twist before he'd had the chance to watch it; seeing Bucky's unspoiled reaction is likely as close as he'll get to experiencing how it feels to have that revelation dropped on you out of the blue.

Bucky doesn't disappoint. As soon as the words "No, I am your father," are spoken, he leans back in his chair and turns to Sam with an expression that screams _'What the fuck?!'_.

"Is he lying?" he asks, disbelief lacing his voice as his head jerks between the screen and Sam's face. "He's gotta be lying."

"He's not," Sam assures him, trying to stifle a laugh. "They go into it more in the next one."

The other man looks back to the screen, incredulous, and lets out a small "Huh," before watching the rest of the film in silence. Sam, satisfied, turns his own attention back to the screen while the cliff-hanger plays out and the credits roll, and he lets the silence stretch for a few moments before finally breaking it. "So? What do you think?"

"Someone actually had sex with Darth Vader?"

It's Sam's turn to be taken aback, and this time he doesn't bother stopping the laughter from bursting out of him. "Well, I wasn't expecting that to be your main takeaway from the movie, but yeah, that happened. They have an entire prequel trilogy about it."

"He wasn't actually Darth Vader at the time, I feel like I should point that out," Sam adds, in an attempt to wipe the mixture of disgust and curiosity off his companion's face. That only causes them to start giggling like schoolchildren however, and as he watches Bucky's eyes start to crinkle and his remaining hand come up to smother his laughter, it hits him that he's only ever seen the man this happy in footage of him and Steve from decades before.

Sam isn't entirely sure how he feels about being able to make Bucky laugh, but he's able to admit to himself that it's better than the silence he'd grown used to when he rambled away at the man while he was in cryo.

They're halfway through Return of the Jedi when the door opens behind them, and Sam turns to find Steve looking between them with mild confusion before his expression softens.

"You two seem to be getting along," he says as he takes a seat on the couch beside Sam, giving Bucky a small smile which he gets in return.

"Don't be fooled," Sam says with a wink, reaching for the remote to pause the movie. "I dragged him here against his will."

"Pretty much," Bucky confirms, although he doesn't seem particularly upset about that. Sam supposes anything must be better than being holed up in solitude.

"Are you working through the list?" Steve asks him, referring to the list of movies Sam had made up for him shortly after they'd met. In the years since, they haven't actually had much time to work through it together; perhaps unsurprisingly.

"Yeah. I'm thinking of tying him to the chair after this and forcing him to watch all of The Lord of the Rings and The Godfather-"

"You know, I never actually got around to The Godfather," Steve interrupts, and he makes a fruitless attempt to contain his laughter when Sam turns to him, scandalised.

"Wait, you've been awake for nearly six years. You've somehow managed to fit in every Disney movie under the sun in that time. _How_ have you not seen The Godfather?!"

"Hell, even _I've_ seen The Godfather."

"See, even Bucky's seen… wait-" Both he and Steve look over to Bucky, who seems sheepish at the sudden attention. "When did you see it?"

Bucky shrugs and distracts himself by playing with a loose piece of fabric on the armchair. "There was a small movie theatre near my apartment in Romania that would do showings of old movies. I went there out of curiosity a few times."

There's a long silence after that, as if it's dawned on everyone in the room that this is as much as Bucky has ever shared about his life in the two years he was on the run. It's strangely mundane information, considering that everything else in both his and Steve's lives seem so fantastical compared to Sam's.

"See?" Sam says eventually, breaking the silence before it can become awkward. "Guy's on the run for two years and even he manages to fit in The Godfather."

Steve laughs, admitting defeat, before turning back to Bucky. "'You see anything else?"

"Not much," Bucky admits with a small shrug. "I saw Snow White when they did a rerun of that."

"Okay, you won points for The Godfather, but now you're officially a sap," Sam jokes, earning a rude hand gesture in response. It doesn't take long for him to notice the change that's come over Steve however; the way his eyes have softened.

"Do you remember when we went to see that with Becca?" he asks, his tone hopeful, and the significance of that particular movie-choice finally dawns on Sam.

Bucky nods and gives Steve a shy smile. "Yeah. It's why I went to see it again."

The smile that spreads across Steve's face is the same he'd had back in the warehouse after everything had gone to shit in Berlin, when Bucky had dropped any façade he may have had before and told him his mother's name.

It's like his world gets slightly brighter every time a little of the old Bucky makes himself known; like they can pretend that everything's okay now that they have each other again. It's a notion that's far from the truth, but that isn't something Sam needs to tell them. They've endured too much pain over the years for him to shatter the small moments of hope they get to experience in the aftermath.

He presses play on the remote again, but it doesn't take long for his attention to drift from the screen to the men by his side. He takes in the way they both seem to disappear into the events of the movie, turning to each other during the best bits and sharing small smiles, and they both seem so young and peaceful that it's easy for Sam to pretend that they only exist within this small room and that the horrors awaiting them outside don't matter. It's such a sweet idea that he thinks he would do anything to make this moment last and it hits him with a jolt, the extent to which he cares for them.

Both of them.

Well, shit.


	2. Chapter 2

They procrastinate for as long as they can, but eventually they decide that they're going to have to make an attempt at fixing Bucky's mind.

They have a plan, if anyone can call it that, in which Wanda will use her old means of manipulating minds to track down the trigger words buried deep within Bucky's subconscious. Once she's managed that, she'll either alter the memories associated with them to the point where their effects will be muted, or she'll delete them altogether in a manner that promises to hurt like a bitch (Sam's aware that Bucky's used to the pain that comes with having his memories wiped, but that doesn't mean he has to like it).

In order to locate the words in the first place, she's going to have to trawl through some of the darkest horrors in Bucky's life, and to ensure he doesn't lash out unconsciously he needs to be strapped down tightly as if he were a prisoner. Though he seems okay with doing anything necessary to rid himself of Hydra's influence, Sam doesn't miss the way his face goes white every time someone explains what's about to happen to him.

In a mountain of theoretical ideas about how this process may end, one thing remains certain. This is going to suck.

"How are you feeling about this?" Sam asks as he takes a seat next to Bucky, trying to keep himself busy by checking the straps across the man's chest to ensure they're tight enough. He feels nausea rise in his gut at the sight of them, and the knowledge that it's a necessity to keep everyone in the room safe doesn't particularly help.

Bucky tries to smile, but it fools neither of them. "I've experienced worse," he says, in a manner that's probably meant to make Sam feel better, but actually just makes his heart sink more. "You don't have to be here for this."

"Hey, I used to work at the VA. Whether I like it or not, I'm used to people reliving their worst memories in front of me."

The response he gets is a mirthless laugh, which is more than Sam himself can manage, and he leans back in his seat and takes in the buzz of activity in the room. Standing as far back as they can manage is a small group of doctors and guards, already prepared in case the worst happens, and Wanda sits directly facing her subject. On Bucky's left sits Steve, under the guise of someone who'll be capable of stopping Bucky if he accidentally gets reactivated, although that excuse is as flimsy as Sam's. They all know that they're only here as moral support; they're not much good for anything else.

A doctor approaches Wanda and asks her a question which earns a nod, and a hush falls over the med-bay as suddenly as if someone had flicked a switch. She turns to them and makes little effort to hide her own anxiety, and Sam gives her a reassuring smile in an attempt to convince both her and himself that everything's going to be okay.

"Are you sure about this?" Steve asks her, not unkindly though there's a layer of steel in his tone that indicates that he'd happily shut this entire thing down if given an excuse. "We can give you more time to prepare if-"

Bucky utters " _Steve…_ " under his breath in the same instant that Wanda gives a single, primed nod, and they have little time to prepare before she wields a familiar crimson energy in her palms.

In all the times Sam's seen Wanda use her powers, he's always seen a strange elegance to them; how despite their hidden danger, she usually seems to be in control and capable of manipulating them to her will.

He tries to remind himself of this as he takes in the blood-red of her eyes which is now mirrored in Bucky's own, and the way the energy emanating from her fingers seems twisted and barbed, as if it could lash out and pierce his skin at any moment. The only indicator that she's working her way through Bucky's mind is in the way the man has gone rigid, his breaths seeming to have ceased while crimson eyes stare at nothing, and Sam feels a deep uselessness as the pair's brutal interaction plays out in silence.

It seems to take hours before something in Wanda's expression shifts and her hands still. "I've found them," she says, so softly that Sam almost misses it.

"Can you do anything?" Steve asks, sounding surprisingly calm in spite of the circumstances.

"I'm not sure," she admits, still focussed on Bucky as if he's the only person in the room. "I thought I could try to alter the memory of them putting those words in his mind somehow, but the way they programmed him… if I alter the memory, it might just make him react to something else."

Sam can't quite consider himself educated on the intricacies of brainwashing – not that he'd want to be – but when he thinks about it, her words make a certain amount of sense. Wanda could replace the painful memories of Hydra beating trigger words into Bucky's mind with an image of flowers and sunshine all she wants, but it won't do any good if he's been programmed in such a way that the Winter Soldier will be reactivated every time he goes outside on a nice day.

"I'm going to have to try to erase the memories somehow," Wanda continues, and the uncomfortable images of Bucky having his mind wiped rise to the forefront of Sam's thoughts before he can stop them. Wanda's next words do little to make any of them feel better. "It's probably going to hurt."

Steve drops his head and takes a deep breath, seeming to be one second away from stopping the further torture of his friend before it can start. Sam turns his attention to Bucky, whose breaths now seem to be coming out in regular, yet strained, gasps, and before he can stop himself he takes the man's hand in his own.

"Did you hear her?" he asks, and is surprised when Bucky's head moves in a slight nod. "Look, we can stop now. No-one'll blame you if that's what you want. But if you're okay with going ahead and getting this over with as quickly as possible, just squeeze my hand."

There's a few beats in which nothing happens, and Sam's half-prepared to turn to Wanda and ask her to wrap it up before he feels a tight pressure around his hand. He looks over to Steve and nods, and the other man only hesitates for a moment before turning back to Wanda and saying, "Go ahead."

The command has barely been uttered before Wanda escapes back into her trance, her fingers dancing meticulously like a surgeon with complete control over her instruments. It strikes Sam that the digits now appear claw-like, as if she is physically digging her way through Bucky's brain, and he doesn't feel any better about that when he feels the hand in his own tighten and sees Bucky clench his eyes shut. It doesn't take long for the grip to become crushing and for his breaths to escape him in high gasps as his chest shudders with each inhale, betraying his pain as clearly as if he were screaming.

The screams come eventually, not long after Wanda's promise that she'll be done soon, and Sam will spend the next few nights struggling to erase the sound from his head.

* * *

 

It feels cruel to test the effects of their work so soon after Wanda has finished, but Natasha insists it's for the best. They let Bucky doze for an hour, with Steve not leaving his side once in that time, but it's as long as any of them can stand to wait.

They have a chamber prepared with reinforced glass on all sides and a built-in aerosol system which will send halothane into the chamber's air supply if it becomes evident that their efforts have been in vain, but the hope is that it will not come to that.

Not that it's easy to be hopeful when Sam looks around and sees multiple armed guards on all sides.

Bucky lets himself be sealed within the chamber without complaint, looking so exhausted that it's amazing he's still standing, and Natasha approaches with the list of trigger words in her hands and an expression that suggests she's trying to be reassuring even though she must be on her guard.

"You ready?" she asks, her voice being projected to Bucky through a microphone. There's a microphone built into the chamber itself for him to vocalise his response, but the reply he gives is silent. He closes his eyes, already resigned to their failure, and mouths 'yes'.

Natasha takes a breath before starting to recite the words in a calm, emotionless voice.

"желание

ржaвый

Семнадцать

Рассвет

Печь"

Sam doesn't miss the way Bucky flinches at the familiar recital, his hand clenching into a fist at his side as if trying to suppress something he can't control. Sam hopes its merely habit; he's not sure any of them could cope with having endured the trials of that morning only for it to yield no results.

He doesn't miss the way that Steve inches closer to the glass, and though Sam knows it's likely unsafe, he can hardly blame his friend for doing so.

"Девять

добросердечный

возвращение на родину

Один

грузовой вагон."

There's a beat. Two beats. Sam doesn't think he has the capacity to breathe anymore, and if the silence in the room is any indication, he's not alone. His complete attention is focussed on the man trapped in the chamber, watching his every minute action in search of any possible indicator of their success or failure.

Bucky breathes. Looks up with clear blue eyes and waits, as if for the hammer to fall.

It seems to take hours for the silence to break, and when it does it's with a choked sob on Bucky's part. He barely has time to whisper "It's over," before he's collapsing under the weight of his own relief, landing in a heap against the glass as he lets out a mix between a laugh and a sob.

Steve and Sam move towards the entrance to the chamber in tandem; the former frantically typing in the security key and practically pulling the door off its hinges before kneeling by his friend. Sam approaches more cautiously, wondering whether he even belongs here considering the history between the other two, but his decision is made for him when he's pulled down into a tight, three-way hug by Bucky.

It's easy to forget the presence of everyone else in that moment. Sam closes his eyes and focusses on the men beside him; on the way Bucky keeps repeating "it's over" as if he'll finally be able to believe it if he says it often enough, while Steve repeats his own reassuring nothings of 'I'm here' and 'you're okay', only now it's finally true. Sam tries to imagine how it must feel to know that seventy years of hell are finally behind you and finds that he can't. All he has to go on is his own relief that these past years of searching for Bucky and trying to piece him back together are finally over, and that is overwhelming enough. God only knows how his friends are feeling.

He looks over to Steve, sees the way he's smiling in such a way that it must hurt and how the years seem to have dropped off him in the space of a few minutes. Sam's seen that look before, in old World War II footage showing a candid, warm moment between him and Bucky back when it must have felt like nothing could hurt them. He can't see Bucky's face due to it being buried in Steve's shoulder, but he imagines his own expression must bear a similar echo to their past.

Though it's probably too early to tell, Sam finally lets himself believe that they're going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how they'll actually fix Bucky's mind in the movies, and it likely won't be like this. I just have a massive obsession/crush on Wanda so I ended up involving her heavily.   
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

"You two are such assholes."

It's a struggle to even get the words out through strained breaths, with his lungs still screaming at him for pushing them beyond their limits. It turns out that choosing two super-soldiers as your running partners makes one slightly competitive; Sam has spent the entire morning fruitlessly trying to catch up with the others in order to maintain some semblance of dignity, and yet the phrase 'On your left' and/or 'right' has been a constant soundtrack throughout. He's certain Bucky and Steve have managed to triple his five circuits around the grounds, and yet they look as if they haven't broken a sweat while Sam sits against a tree, soaked to the bone.

"Seriously, it's unfair. You should be banned from racing against us normal people," he continues, only half-joking, and while his friends make a valiant effort to suppress their laughter, they ultimately fail.

"Hey, it's not our fault you lost against two geriatrics," Bucky quips, and he only laughs harder when Sam sends a rude hand gesture his way. He closes his eyes and wipes the sweat from his forehead, dreaming of a heavenly cold shower in the face of smothering heat. As beautiful as their safe haven is, there are times where he truly misses the cool mornings in Washington D.C.

"Ha ha. Why don't you do another round while you're at it? Or twenty, considering that should only take you about ten seconds…"

"Actually, I think we're done," Steve says, offering a hand and smiling in a way that somehow manages to be both kind and mildly patronising. "It looks like someone's pushed themselves too far."

Sam ignores the offer of help and pushes himself shakily to his feet, and though he tries to stay angry he can't mistake the grin that's threatening to come forth. In an attempt to save face, he lowers his head and nudges Steve as hard as he can. "What did I tell you? You're assholes, both of you."

They start walking towards the palace together, but eventually Sam hangs back and takes his time in order to ease his aching muscles. He stops by a stream and sighs with relief as he splashes blissfully cool water onto his face, before looking up and taking a moment to spy on his friends.

It had taken a while for the initial uncertainty between the two to dwindle – for them to be able to bridge the gap of so many lost years and attempt to start where they left off – but now that Bucky's finally himself again, Sam can't help but be reminded of an old married couple (hell, he wouldn't be surprised if that's what they are. He wouldn't have put it past them to have stumbled upon a remarkably progressive priest in the midst of wartime Europe and exchanged drunken vows on the eve of a dangerous mission).

They seem to co-exist so easily. He'll rarely find one without the other these days, and often he'll see them sharing secret smiles as if reminded of a decades-old joke or asking each other about some old memory out of the blue. There's no invisible barrier between them; nothing stopping them from laying firm hands on each other's shoulders in a show of support, or hugging each other for comfort after yet another nightmare has either of them smothering screams against a pillow, and Sam can't help but yearn for that sense of camaraderie.

He'd had it with Riley for years, to the point where he's pretty sure their entire unit had been sick of them, yet as much as he cares for Steve and Bucky (on the rare occasions where they aren't total dicks, he reminds himself) he knows that the history he has with them is nothing compared to the history they have with each other.

It takes Steve looking back at him from a distance for Sam to decide to abandon his musings and make his way back the palace. Besides, the sweat from both the run and the intense heat has him feeling rather disgusting, and as pleasant as the water from the stream is, he finds that the promise of a cold shower is a far sweeter temptation.

* * *

 

It's been three weeks since Bucky's programming was removed, and two weeks since T'Challa gifted him with a replacement prosthetic (in Sam's view it looks much the same as the old one, but apparently it's lighter and less harsh in its movements so Bucky seems happy enough). Most of their time has been spent in a self-imposed, ignorant bubble; the events of the outside world being shut out for the moment while time is spent on recovery and developing something approaching a normal dynamic as friends.

As much as Sam would like to pretend otherwise, he knows this won't last. What little titbits of information he accepts from the world beyond Wakanda doesn't exactly sound promising – there's a lot of interest in tracking down the rogue Avengers to stand trial back home and the Sokovia Accords are in full effect – and even T'Challa seems to be having trouble with factions of his own government who aren't entirely happy with his choice of guests. Sam wouldn't be surprised if Steve found somewhere else for them all to stay purely to save the King some grief, and he can't say he's entirely looking forward to that day.

Then again, they were never going to be able to stay here forever. The world is always going to need them at some point and Steve isn't the type of leader who would choose to let people down, though it would likely make both Sam and Bucky's lives easier if he was.

Perhaps it's the inevitability of them having to leave soon that leads him to accept Bucky's offer of a trek through the nearby forest, in search of the impressive views that T'Challa and Shuri often gush about when they speak of home. Steve had been invited as well, but he's caught up in meetings with the same factions of government that have been causing T'Challa problems, and thus Sam finds himself trudging through the forest overgrowth alone with Bucky in the late hours of a cool morning.

His surroundings are somehow wilder than he'd expected. Beyond a thin path which acts as the sole marker of their route, the ground is overrun by vines and skeletal tree roots while thick green leaves above them block out the sun. The coolness of the air is a stark contrast to the dry heat from beyond the forest, although there's still an air of humidity that has him wiping sweat from his forehead, and though there seems to be an invisible blanket surrounding them which dampens most noise, more than once he thinks he hears the call of a wild animal in the distance.

It's an eerily beautiful place in its own way, but at the same time Sam wouldn't be surprised if he turned around to find a giant spider staring him down.

"This is a lot different to the forests we used to make camp in back in the day," Bucky says as he carefully marks the safest route up a particularly nasty slope, and Sam simply hums in response as he tries to save his breath in order to follow his partner without tripping. "It's so much greener. Everything was always so brown back in Europe."

"See that's where our experiences differ," Sam manages between breaths. As he takes another step, a vine snaps under his foot. "I'd have killed to see a forest. All we had was sand, sand and more sand."

Bucky laughs, before offering a hand out and helping Sam up the final steep hurdle of the hill. He doesn't have the dignity to refuse, and he notes with bemusement the way Bucky doesn't even seem to be sweating or breathless or anything. Asshole.

"I guess. Must have been nice and toasty though," Bucky says, as he once again takes the lead further into the brush. "We spent a lot of time in The Alps. In winter. Do you know how fucking freezing The Alps get in winter?"

"Ah, cold," Sam says wistfully, closing his eyes for dramatic effect. "I could only dream of the cold while I melted under the Afghan sun."

They can't stop themselves from laughing, and Sam finds it odd that they can now talk so lightly of times in their life that likely did them more harm than good. He isn't going to start complaining though.

"You know, Becca would have liked it here," Bucky says after a few minutes of silent trekking. In the distance, Sam thinks he sees a thin stream of sunlight indicating the forest edge. "She loved summer in Brooklyn. It was like the heat didn't bother her at all."

"This your sister?"

"Yeah. Rebecca," Bucky says, not bothering to mask the fondness in his voice. "She was seven years younger than me; technically still a kid when I went off to fight. I'm not sure she ever forgave me for that."

Sam can relate. He still feels guilt gnaw at him whenever he remembers telling his mom that both he and Riley were intending to join the army; how she'd screamed at him about how she could end up losing both her son and someone who was as-good-as.

In the end, she'd died even before Riley, and though she'd been proud of them by that point, he could never get that terrified image of her out of his head.

He thinks of a sixteen or seventeen-year-old Rebecca Barnes seeing her brother off to a war he would never return from, and feels a familiar pain settle in his chest.

"Do you think she's still out there somewhere?" he asks, and he instantly knows he shouldn't have done when he sees Bucky freeze for a brief millisecond that feels like minutes.

"No. I mean, I checked but…" Bucky shrugs, before turning his head back to Sam with a small smile. "She passed back in 2013."

"Oh," he says, regretting having asked even more now. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's… I mean, she had a good life. She was married for fifty-six years, had kids. Grand-kids. Spent a lot of time travelling, just like she always wanted to," Bucky says, trying to sound light even though Sam doesn't miss the way he turns his head down and wipes furiously at his eyes. "She was happy."

There's silence for a while, and when Bucky speaks again, it's in a tone that's just a little too bright. "What about you? You have brothers or sisters?"

"Nah. It was just me and my ma after my dad passed," Sam replies, not really sure if his own family life is something he's desperate to dwell on. Not that it was bad - his childhood had been a fairly happy one despite losing his father at the tender age of seven – but he's painfully aware of the fact that he's lost most of the people he loves. It's not something he likes to remember. "And Riley too, I guess. Ma used to joke that he was like her second son."

That gets Bucky to smile, and Sam feels a little lighter at the sight. "Yeah, Steve's mom used to say the same about me when we were kids."

They don't say anything else until they reach the forest clearing which rests atop the hill. Emerging into the open seems to send them into a veil of bright sunlight, and Sam raises a hand to shield his eyes, taking a moment to adjust before finally being able to acknowledge the view.

For someone who's been living in Wakanda for close to three months, Sam realises that this is the first time that he is truly _seeing_ it. Before them, fields stretch out for miles in an elegant blend of green and gold grasses, while small towns and villages lie dotted across the horizon like a mosaic. The entire landscape is embraced by surrounding green hills and rugged mountains, and a blue, uninterrupted sky extends as far as the eye can see.

The land before them is strangely timeless, when one considers that simply turning a hundred and eighty degrees will show an undeniably modern city in the distance, and it only adds to the sense that Sam is currently living in a bubble in which nothing on the outside can hurt him. He drops down and sits on the dusty brown grass resting atop the hill and, following a moment of hesitation, finds himself joined by Bucky who looks similarly enamoured by his surroundings.

"I don't think I ever want to leave here," Sam says eventually, unsure himself whether he's referring to this small clearing or the safe haven of the palace that waits behind them. He knows that if he were to stay until the end of his days, he'd probably start to miss the thrill of a fight and the freedom of flying, but in the calm of the moment he can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

"Who says you have to?" Bucky replies, and Sam turns to find that the man is lying on his back, resting his head on his hands as he stares up at the clear sky. "We could live out our days as hermits in the woods. Although you'd probably want to murder me within a week."

Sam laughs at the mental image of himself and Bucky as old men with long beards, living off the land for years on end. Surprisingly, it's not the worst idea he's ever heard.

"Nah," he says, tearing his eyes away from the man lying by his side and looking out onto the horizon again. "You're not that bad."

He can imagine with perfect clarity the smug pride that must be gracing the other man's face at that, so he refuses to look at him. Nevertheless, as they pass away a couple more hours in peace before finally making their way back down the hill, he lets himself admit that he actually quite likes being in the other man's company.

* * *

 

When he opens his bedroom door in the early hours of the following morning, he's surprised to find a small parcel lying by his feet. Too tired to question its existence, he leans down and picks it up before tearing open the packaging and sliding its contents into his hand.

The first thing he picks up is a hastily written note with ' _You can wear this on our next run'_ printed in a messy scrawl.

The next is a small, plastic medal.

A small, plastic _participation_ medal.

He takes back anything nice he ever said about the man; Bucky is a colossal dick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started life as part of an idea for chapter 3, before my brain ran away with me. This was also when I was under the impression that this story would be strictly five chapters, but considering the next one's turning into a bit of a monster, that's probably not going to happen :P Thank you for any feedback on the first few chapters and I hope you enjoy this one!

The bubble bursts barely six months later.

Annoyingly, it seems that the world continues to spin even when Sam would happily run away from it, and the challengers that the Avengers seem to attract continue to batter them even when their team is a fractured mess. Sam hasn't heard much, and what he has heard doesn't make a lot of sense, but he knows enough that he's had to mentally prepare for the likelihood of battling extra-terrestrial armies under the leadership of some almighty ruler calling himself Thanos.

They haven't made an appearance in the flesh yet, thank god for small mercies, but signals of their approach have been broadcast daily by NASA, and the entire world seems to be acting under the assumption that a storm is coming.

It's not a fight he can say he's particularly ready for, but this threat is one that they cannot sit out. Hell, even the governments of the world who would have happily hung them out to dry a month ago are begging for them to make an appearance. It's almost hilarious, although Sam's certain that they'll resume their hunger for blood the minute the battle is won.

They all leave at dawn. Steve has sent word ahead to Tony, so at the very least it won't be a surprise when they turn up to mission briefings out of the blue, and T'Challa has arranged for his half-sister Shuri to take his place as Queen in his absence. They'll leave in a quinjet come the morn, and will likely spend a nerve-wracking few hours in silence as they all ponder the reception that awaits them in New York, but for now all they can do is wait and try to grab a final few hours of rest.

It hits Sam at three in the morning that rest is something that he will not get. It isn't for lack of trying – he's gotten better at sleeping regularly of late – but he finds that he's too wired to even make note of the exhaustion he knows he must be feeling deep down. There's nothing for it but to stare at the ceiling, wide-awake and with nothing to focus on but his own breathing.

He wonders how many people in the surrounding bedrooms are doing the same.

It doesn't take long for him to curse under his breath and lift himself off the bed, before moving out into the corridor which leads to the guest lounge, his way illuminated by moonlight pouring in from high windows.

He finds that he isn't alone when he pushes open the door to the lounge. Sitting curled up on the couch, facing away from Sam, is Bucky; the moonlight making him appear ghostly in the otherwise dark room. There's no movement from him when Sam approaches and settles himself onto the armchair, but when he checks he can see that Bucky is wide awake despite the dark circles that line his eyes.

Sam imagines he gets far less sleep than the average human anyway, even without the added stress of being uprooted from a place you've come to call home.

"Take it you couldn't sleep either?" Sam asks, perhaps redundantly, but small-talk is all he has as a distraction from the trials that face him.

He turns to find Bucky looking his way, as if only now noticing his presence, before he looks back to the window. "I tried to. Just couldn't switch off."

"Yeah, I don't blame you," Sam says, looking down at his hands while trying to ignore the heaviness of his eyelids. He knows that even if he manages to rest now, it will do nothing to help the weariness that's managed to seep into his bones at the notion of having to leave their safe haven, and he rubs at his eyes furiously in an attempt to stave off sleep.

It's a long while before Bucky speaks again.

"I keep seeing them. Maria and Howard Stark," he says, his voice a low whisper as if he's afraid the wrong person will hear, and Sam freezes. Even though he's known all along that, fixed or not, Bucky is almost certainly still haunted by what he was forced to do by Hydra, this is the first time that the man is being this open about it with _him_. Steve's always received the brunt of it before now, and it feels like Sam is being entrusted with something precious. "Every time I close my eyes, it's always the same."

"Buck, that wasn't your-"

"I know," Bucky interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, and Sam looks up in time to see him take a deep, measured breath. "But it was still _me_. Nothing changes that. And Tony… he had to watch what I did."

There's a long beat in which whatever words Sam thinks to say seem so woefully insufficient that he doesn't bother voicing them. He feels exposed by the soft, white light drifting in through the window; he would feel better if the room was pitch-black and there wasn't the illusion of a spotlight hanging over them both.

It's odd; he's helped people through their nightmares and demons before. In the right circumstances, he's pretty good at it.

Here though, he feels absurdly underqualified.

"Look," he says eventually, meeting Bucky face-on. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to go through what you did. What Hydra made you do… it was horrible, but it wasn't you. I know that can't erase the damage they did, or the memories of what happened, but nobody has any right to blame you for that, you understand?"

He doesn't get a response; not a sound or a nod of the head or anything. He's not entirely sure what to make of that.

"As for Tony, look, the man's… complicated, to say the least, but he's not an idiot," he continues, and the mention of the younger Stark at least causes Bucky to look up at him. Perhaps the thought of having to face the man, and possibly even fight their newest threat alongside him, has been praying on his mind. "He's had time to cool off since Siberia. To think. And he knows that we managed to get those triggers out of your head, Steve told him as soon as he could. I'm not saying the two of you will ever be best buds, but I doubt he still blames you the same way he used to."

It takes a few moments, but eventually he gets a weak smile from Bucky before he looks over to the window again, seeming slightly less weighed down than he had minutes before. "Still can't say I'm looking forward to being back in the world, though."

"Yeah, me neither," Sam admits, although he imagines the prospect is a lot more daunting for Bucky. It hasn't been that long since the entire world was encouraged to help track him down, and despite efforts having been made to clear his name following Zemo's arrest, it can't be easy to face being thrown back to the lions again. "Don't worry though. Me 'n Steve'll look after you."

That draws a laugh from Bucky, and Sam can't help the sense of pride that still comes over him every time that happens.

What may be minutes or hours passes them by in comfortable silence before Sam gets an idea.

"Considering neither of us are getting much sleep tonight," he says, getting to his feet and digging out the speakers buried in a shelf underneath the TV. "I'm feeling a trip down memory lane. For me, not you, seeing as you were a human icicle at the time."

He tries not to smirk at the look of confusion that crosses Bucky's face as he brings up the old playlist on his phone before connecting it to the speakers, altering the volume so that the music plays loudly enough for them to appreciate it but not so loudly that they'll be murdered by several angry, exhausted teammates on the flight tomorrow. It's a Radiohead track that comes up first – Riley's old favourite, he informs Bucky – and he lays the sound system on the coffee-table before him, letting the music play on without interruption.

It hadn't occurred to him before, just how much he misses this. How much he misses taking some quiet time for himself and enjoying the simple things in life like music, especially when the rest of his existence promises to never be simple again. He closes his eyes and simply listens as Radiohead melts into Nina Simone and Marvin Gaye, and eventually ends up at an old Beatles track that his mother would sing to send him to sleep. It's a sweet memory, one he craves to hold onto even though he knows he'll need to become focussed on their mission in the coming days, and though sleep refuses to come forth, he is still able to feel a sense of peace.

He opens his eyes when another Beatles song comes on, one he's less familiar with but that his mother had no doubt loved, and looks over to Bucky to find the other man fast asleep, curled up into a ball with his head resting against the couch cushions. Even in sleep, he doesn't look particularly restful – there's a furrow in his brows that ideally wouldn't be there – but he also doesn't look like he's caught in the throes of a nightmare, and so Sam lets himself relax.

At least one of them will get some rest tonight.

There's nothing more to be done now. Sam leans back in his chair and looks towards the window while the soft notes of an old Marvin Gaye song start to fill the room, and waits for dawn to appear on the horizon.


	5. Chapter 5

It only takes a week for Sam to be sick to death of aliens.

The worst part is that they still seem to be in the early stages of attack – the first wave, some men in suits have called it – with small hordes of creatures showing up everywhere from a city block to rural villages while daily imaging shows a greater threat still approaching from the skies.

The small armies aren't anything they can't handle – every time a new report of their infestation comes up, the army is sent in to start evacuations and 'pest control' – but their weaponry has already demonstrated that they can reduce bustling city blocks to piles of rubble and ash, and if these are the pawns making up the first wave of attacks then Sam doubts he wants to see what comes next.

A small group of the Avengers have been set up on the outskirts of an affected block in New York, having been heavily involved in the evacuation of the area and setting up a perimeter to keep the remaining attackers contained. Beyond the barbed gate is a hospital where most of the injured and displaced are staying, while daily scouts wander their destroyed homes in search of any survivors or remaining creatures.

It's rough work, seeing as the creatures are adept at camouflage with their sickly grey flesh blending into the dust, and the likelihood of finding survivors dwindles with each passing day. Sam feels like he's constantly on high alert as he accompanies Bucky on a search of abandoned apartments, having to strike a balance between being loud enough to attract people but quiet enough to hide from threats. They've already run into two of the creatures today – hideous, reptilian beasts with papery, grey flesh wrapped tightly over long skulls – and managed to kill them without much hassle, but the deathly quiet surrounding them makes Sam all too aware of his heart pounding in his chest.

"You know the worst thing about all this?" he asks Bucky as loudly as he dares, while they assess the ground floor of a mostly-collapsed apartment building. The other man looks back, silently indicating that Sam should go on. "We're fighting these weird, extra-terrestrial beings, and yet all this stuff feels very familiar."

It's been bugging him since they were assigned to the scouting missions. This is something he's done a hundred times before; wander through destroyed areas that were once someone's home, with a gun in his hand and a heavy pack weighing him down. He's also wearing his flight suit, albeit with the wings folded up, but he's been warned on multiple occasions that using it could be fatal. There've been reports from elsewhere of the enemy lurking on rooftops, primed to shoot down any helicopter or plane that flies overhead, and he's pretty sure he'd qualify as a target if he rose above the skyline.

A loose brick falls from what was once the kitchen wall, and both Bucky and Sam turn towards the noise with guns raised, before relaxing and lowering their weapons. It's not the first time this has happened. In the eerie quiet, every noise seems threatening.

"I think I see what you mean," Bucky says eventually, looking over to Sam with a smirk. "I miss the days when our enemy looked like us though."

"Hey, this is the future for you," Sam says with a shrug. "We never got around to flying cars, but you can bet on an alien invasion every couple o' years."

That draws a genuine laugh from Bucky, and the sight of it against their shattered backdrop has Sam smiling at the ridiculousness of everything too. The sense of unease returns quickly enough however, when Bucky turns towards him and his smile fades in a heartbeat.

"Shit! Sam behind you-"

The next few seconds pass in a nauseating rush. Sam barely has time to acknowledge the new threat before he's pushed roughly aside by Bucky and falls in an inelegant heap. His peripheral vision is filled with harsh blue light followed by a crash of rubble, and when he finally looks up, it's into the skeletal face of one of their attackers. The creature gives off a high screech before aiming its blaster towards him, and he doesn't have time to think before he's aiming his own gun at its head and pulling the trigger.

The creature falls back with a jolt, sticky grey blood spattering across the wall behind it, and Sam barely has time to catch his breath before he notices the other body lying amongst a heap of rubble.

Bucky hasn't moved since the blast hit him. Continues to not move, even as Sam wills him to.

Shit.

Sam gets to his feet, wincing as his leg twinges from some injury he must have sustained when he was pushed aside, and he makes his way towards his partner while muttering curses under his breath. He tries to summon old medical knowledge from his days as a soldier, surface-level though it may be, but he's helplessly aware of the fact that he is not the best person to deal with an unconscious super-soldier in the middle of an abandoned war-zone.

Relief barely has a chance to flood through him as he kneels by Bucky's side and sees his chest rising. He finds himself in a strange zone, his surroundings forgotten, as he feels for a pulse in the man's neck and counts its beats under his breath. Satisfied, he clicks on his radio with the intention of calling for back-up, or even the preparation of a medical team for when they arrive back at the safe-zone, but all he gets is static. He resists the urge to throw the radio at a wall – he'll likely need it later – and returns to his charge.

He checks the man's abdomen first, where the leather of his suit is charred and smoking from the blast, but he doesn't find any obvious signs of bleeding. There's the beginnings of an impressive bruise and he worries briefly about the possibility of internal bleeding, but that's hardly something he can help with. Besides, he's seen Bucky and Steve shrug off hits like this countless times in the past; he can probably surmise that it isn't his biggest problem.

He quickly scans the rest of the man, looking for obvious deformities and finding nothing, and it's only when his eyes roam over Bucky's head that he notices the small spatters of wet blood on the underlying rubble. He carefully presses a hand against the back of the man's head and panics slightly when it comes away red, and tries to remember the grading scales for head injuries that he'd once had grilled into him in training.

He settles on the Glasgow Coma Scale – what little he remembers of it anyway – and says in as clear a voice as he can manage; "Hey, Bucky? You think you can open your eyes for me?"

He doesn't get a response until he repeats the sentence twice, louder each time, but he can't help his sigh of relief when he sees Bucky's eyes open slightly, before clenching shut as a groan escapes his lips. Sam can only imagine the massive headache he's going to have after this, but he can't focus on that now.

"That's good. Just try to keep them open, okay?" He gets a dirty look at that, the idea likely not a pleasant one, but to his credit, Bucky obeys and turns his eyes to what was once the ceiling. "Can you tell me your name and what day it is?"

"You know m'name," is the slurred response, and against his better judgement, Sam finds himself laughing.

"I know I know your name. I'm trying to make sure _you_ know your name."

The look he gets is a mixture of puzzlement and irritation, but Sam thankfully doesn't need to ask again in order to drag out an answer. "'m Bucky. You're Sam. It's Tuesday, and the world's ending. Do I pass?"

"Good enough," Sam admits, because the fact that he can vocalise anything more than annoyed grunts is better than he could've hoped. Although he supposes he can blame that on the serum. "Now, can you squeeze my hand with yours?"

"No."

"No you can't or no you don't want to?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, but relents and grabs Sam's proffered hand with his right hand and then the left. There's an obvious difference in power, but Sam doubts he can make a fair assessment on that front considering that one of the arms is a metal death-machine.

"All right. You're not a lost cause so unfortunately I'm going to have to take you with me," he says, finally returning his attention to their surroundings. They're about a mile out from the hospital, and this area has been mostly cleared of attackers, but that's still a mile of trying to drag along an extremely heavy super-soldier with a head-wound. He could try flying, but he can't be sure that there won't be alien scouts lurking on the rooftops or keeping watch on the skies, and besides, it's quite a distance to be flying when weighed down so heavily.

"You think you can get up?"

Bucky looks as if he'd happily stay lying down in peace, but he nods slightly and groans as he pushes himself up. Sam can finally see the area where his wound must be, with the back of his head marked by sticky, red strands of hair, but there's little he can do about that now. He still can't be sure that there isn't something more serious going on underneath, and while it might help to find somewhere to clean Bucky up, he's not sure he's willing to risk applying pressure to a possibly fractured skull.

A mile, he reminds himself. They only need to travel a mile.

He supports Bucky by the shoulder as the other man shakily rises to his feet, swaying when he's finally upright and looking as if he's struggling to focus. The funk passes quickly, but Sam finds little comfort in that. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Bucky says, with a small smirk, before looking over to Sam with exhausted but determined eyes. "Let's just go."

They stagger out onto the abandoned street together and start making progress towards civilisation. Sam remains on red alert, his eyes and ears pricked for the slightest indication of movement around them, although neither of them are exactly fighting-ready. Bucky tries his best to co-operate, but his feet start to drag more often than not, and Sam feels his muscles ache with the strain of supporting the other man's weight as they navigate through roads which seem to have become uprooted death-traps in the last few days. Every now and then he'll stop and try to contact help on the radio, but piercing static is the response every time and he can't help but wonder if there'll even be anyone waiting for them by the time they arrive at the old hospital.

Half a mile is all they can manage before he starts to notice Bucky's head lolling and the way his legs are starting to give out, and though he'd much rather keep moving, Sam pulls them into the closest apartment he can find. An hour of rest won't hurt, he tells himself, and he doesn't miss the way Bucky groans with relief as he's laid down on an old, battered couch.

"Rest up, but try not to sleep," Sam tells him, before he starts to wander through the small apartment in search of any supplies. A raid of the bathroom cupboards leads him to some painkillers, and he takes two tablets greedily before saving some more for Bucky just in case. He can't find any bandages for Bucky's head, although part of him's still paranoid about applying pressure so that's not much of a loss, but he does find some bottles of water in the fridge which he stuffs into his pack. He's going to assume the owners of the apartment won't mind.

While in the kitchen, he tries once more to get a signal on the radio. It's likely a lost cause – it wouldn't be the first time their opponents have knocked out a radio-tower – but to his relief, after three tries, he gets an accented " _Wilson?_ " on the other end.

"T'Challa, thank god," he says, feeling like a weight of loneliness has been lifted from his chest. "Look, we're about half a mile out. I'm fine but Bucky's got a head wound that'll need looking at. Can you get a medical team ready?"

" _I can do that_ ," T'Challa responds, and Sam can hear him giving commands in the background before his voice returns, wonderfully clear. " _Do you need help? I can meet you halfway."_

"That'd be great, thanks. Is Steve with you?"

" _Not yet. We're expecting his team to return within the hour."_

"All right," Sam takes a deep breath and turns in the direction of the living room. "Someone should probably tell him that Bucky's hurt. He'll want to know."

" _I'll pass it along,"_ T'Challa responds, his voice kind even through the radio. " _I'll see you soon Sam."_

"I'm looking forward to it. My back's killing me, trying to carry this guy," he says with a weak laugh. "I'll see you in a bit. Over and out."

He clicks off the radio and closes his eyes, more relieved than he'd expected at the promise of help. It's like his body has finally decided to tell him just how weary he is, just how human and breakable, and though he'd give anything to just collapse and sleep, he takes a deep breath and makes his way back to his charge.

"Found some water, Buckaroo," he says as he returns to the lounge. "Probably best you drink up-"

Sam freezes when he sees the man lying still, eyes closed and face white as a sheet, and he crashes to his knees beside the couch in order to assess his condition.

"What'd I tell you about sleeping, huh?" he says, trying to keep his tone light although he can feel his heart hammering in his chest when Bucky doesn't so much as twitch. "Bucky, I need you to wake up."

The words are as loud and clear as he can risk, but still they yield no response. Before he even bothers to think about it, he slaps the man across the face as hard as he can and gets little more than a small slit of blue eyes, a weak groan and a muttered "Don' feel well…"

"Yeah, I can imagine," Sam replies, not sure Bucky can even hear him. The fact that Bucky's GCS is getting worse is something he is officially not equipped to deal with, and he knows now that he needs to get him to the hospital as quickly as his legs can carry him. Wrapping an arm around Bucky's torso, he helps the other man up, trying not to focus on how he's little more than dead weight at this point, and starts to half-walk, half-drag him back out onto the street.

The remainder of the journey is a long, difficult one. Sam spends most of it fighting for breath as the sheer weight of the other man slows him to a crawl. Bucky tries, half-aware that he should probably be moving his feet, but the fact that he's not entirely present isn't much help and Sam can't justify stopping to rest when there's the possibility that his friend is bleeding into his brain.

Apparently, he's stumbled upon something the serum can't fix; the skull's a fairly enclosed space and there's little room for blood to gather without causing damage, even in an enhanced super-soldier.

Sam is reminded of some of his fellow soldiers who suffered traumatic head injuries. He focusses on the ones they were able to save; he tries not to think of those they couldn't.

It feels like hours before he sees T'Challa making his way towards them and Sam feels he could burst into tears from relief. He suddenly feels very aware of the weight in his arms and the exhaustion that's washed over him like a fire, and when T'Challa goes to support Bucky's other side the lightness is almost overwhelming.

"What happened to him?" The King asks as they start the final march towards the safe zone, so close now that Sam can almost smell it. They both look to Bucky, who's now barely conscious, his head lolling like that of a weak child.

"Reckless idiot pushed me out of the way of a blast," Sam utters through gritted teeth, suddenly angry as he remembers the decision the man in his arms had made that had led to this. It should have been Sam lying broken among the rubble; Bucky's died enough already. "Got thrown head-first through a brick wall."

He doesn't look to see T'Challa's reaction, his gaze now fixed directly ahead of him. He can see the erected fence and the hospital and apartments beyond; can see the promise of light and food and sleep. It's so enticing that he jumps when T'Challa starts to speak.

"There'll be a team waiting for him upon our return," he says, somehow managing to hide the strain of carrying Bucky's weight from his voice. "Steve will likely be waiting too. All of his team made it back."

"Good. That's good…" Sam responds, not really sure how to take hopeful news anymore. The small victories aren't quite enough to sustain him when there's still a vast army awaiting them and they're standing in the ruins of what was once a lively city block. He knows it likely won't be long before they start losing some of their own, and he's far from prepared for that eventuality. "What's happening out there?"

"This horde has almost been wiped out," T'Challa says. "We're receiving reports of more isolated incidents elsewhere in the city, however. The pattern of attack seems to be suggesting that they're attempting to lure us towards Manhattan; get us all in one place so they can hit us at once."

"Not the worst strategy in the world," Sam mutters, bitterly. "If they wipe us out then there goes 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' or whatever they're calling us now. Is there still no sign of this Thanos guy?"

T'Challa shakes his head. "Every creature we've captured repeats his name like a mantra though. It seems they're devoted to him."

"Great," Sam says with a mirthless laugh. "We're fighting an alien cult."

T'Challa laughs, and the sound somehow manages to be both comforting and bizarre in view of their surroundings. "Yes, I suppose we are."

They pass the rest of their journey in exhausted silence, and when they finally wander through the doors of the hospital and are able to pass Bucky along to the waiting medical team, Sam feels almost weightless. The activity around him fades to a blur and all he can see is Bucky lying unconscious on the hospital bed, looking absurdly small when surrounded by so many people.

He turns away; sees Steve rushing through the crowds towards them, not bothering to hide his worry as he practically throws aside a young medic in his bid to get close to Bucky. He turns to her with an apology on his lips, before looking back to the man on the bed and gently running his hands through his hair, blind to the activity surrounding him.

Sam lays a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder and thinks he gets a 'thank you' in response, but he's too exhausted to take it in. Without a word, he excuses himself from the scene and keeps walking until he can find a quiet place to think. He finds it in a second - or maybe third, he's lost count – floor bathroom, which he stumbles into gracelessly before running the faucets and splashing blissfully cool water on his face.

When he looks up at his reflection, he can barely recognise himself. He's a mess; his face is practically grey with dust, and cuts line his eyebrows and left cheek. Dark bags hang under his eyes and his mouth is curled downwards in a frown that doesn't suit him. He splashes yet more water on his face to clear the dust and clenches his eyes shut as water drips down into the sink.

He isn't sure how long he stays there, listening to the soft droplets hitting the basin and feeling each intense ache from his muscles and joints return to his consciousness. He wants nothing more than to sleep, although he's not sure his anxiety from the last few hours will let him.

Still, he doesn't get much chance to rest these days so he'll seize any opportunity he gets. He reaches up and grabs some paper towels to dry his face, before slipping out of the bathroom in search of an empty bed. It takes less time than he expects for him to find one; about four doors down the corridor leads him to an empty ward, and he slips off his flight suit as carefully as he can before throwing himself onto the first bed he meets, drifting off in an instant.

* * *

 He manages to sleep for four hours, and feels slightly better for it when his eyes finally creep open. Thankfully the ward is still empty and his flight suit lies untouched next to the bed; in his exhaustion, he hadn't really bothered to consider the possibility that someone might try to steal it. Sam wipes his eyes and groans as he lifts himself off the bed, feeling every ache and pain from earlier come back in full force with every movement.

For some reason he can't quite understand, he procrastinates before trying to find Steve and Bucky. He makes his way to the first floor where most of the injured civilians are being treated, and makes an effort to check in on as many as he can. These are the people they are fighting to protect, after all, and there will only be more in need of aid soon if T'Challa's reports are true.

To his surprise, they seem happy to see him. He feels a sense of warmth when a small gathering of children start trailing after him, excitably questioning him about how it feels to fly, and what Captain America's really like, and whether Iron Man could win in a fight against the Hulk, and he answers each one as truthfully as he can manage before reluctantly urging them to go back to their parents.

It's almost midnight by the time he finally makes his way to the recovery room, where Nat had told him he would find Bucky when he bumped into her on the stairs. The place is eerily quiet at this time of night, the lights dimmed for the benefit of the sleeping patients and the mild drone of equipment being the only sound. It doesn't take him long to find Bucky's private room, and he hesitates for longer than he means to before knocking on the door and stepping inside.

Steve looks up at him and gives a small smile before returning his attention to the man sleeping on the bed, who mercifully seems to have some colour back in his cheeks. He's breathing with the aid of a nasal cannula and a drip is feeding him Hartmann's solution, but otherwise he's less of a horror-show than Sam had feared.

There's a white bandage wrapped around his head and Sam can see underneath that some of his hair has been shaved around the wound. They probably had to operate then, and the thought sends a short stab of guilt running through him. He's reminded once again that that hit had been meant for him, and that Bucky had leapt in the way without a second thought.

"How is he?" he asks quietly, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed to Steve. His friend has Bucky's flesh-and-bone hand clutched tightly in his own, Sam notices, but he doesn't mention it.

"Better now," Steve says, the relief in his voice practically tangible. "He had a skull fracture and it led to an 'extradural haematoma', I think they called it… They were able to fix it and I think the serum's taking care of everything else." He leans back in his chair and wipes his face with his free hand, not bothering to hide the fact that he's bone-weary. "Thank you for bringing him back, Sam. I don't know how I can begin to thank you."

"Hey, don't thank me," Sam says, although he finds a smile sneaking onto his face in spite of his protest. He's more relieved than he should be about the fact that Bucky's going to be okay. "It was idiot-face here who saved me. I see now why you reckless jerks get along so well."

He doesn't miss the way Steve freezes at that, and even though he recovers quickly the smile that appears on his face doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Idiot-face? Is that the best you can do?"

"Hey man, I'm tired," Sam says, because he is and he's not sure he can envision a near-future in which he isn't tired. "And so are you. When'd you last sleep?"

Steve shrugs, suddenly sheepish, and it tells Sam everything he needs to know. "I can't remember."

Sam isn't in a position to judge, he knows, but some buried protective instinct rises within him anyway. He looks from Steve to Bucky, briefly curses himself for getting attached to a pair of reckless idiots, and adorns his best 'responsible friend' expression.

"You should go get some sleep."

That suggestion lands as well as he expects it to. Steve shakes his head and looks up at Sam with a weak, unconvincing smile. "I can't. If something happens to him-"

"I can stay here," Sam says, and Steve seems surprised by the offer. "I already got some sleep earlier. I'll keep an eye on him and wake you up the second he so much as twitches, I promise."

The other man seems to consider this for a moment, his posture slipping as if the promise of sleep has made him finally admit that he's truly exhausted. He looks over to Bucky's sleeping face and brushes aside a stray strand of hair slipping out from underneath the bandage, before looking over to Sam again. "You'll wake me the minute there's any change?"

"Yeah, course I will."

Steve sighs, and wipes at his tired eyes, before silently admitting defeat and rising to his feet. "Thanks Sam. For everything."

Sam can't bring himself to say anything, so he merely nods and gives Steve a small smile as the man leaves the room in search of a bed. He likely won't stray far – there are plenty of empty beds in the main recovery suite – and Sam doubts he'll bother sleeping for long.

Still, they have a long fight ahead of them. Any rest they can snatch in the coming days will be precious.

He makes himself as comfortable as he can in his chair, prepared for a quiet few hours, before looking over to the man on the bed. If he tries, he can almost pretend that Bucky looks peaceful – although that'll likely be due to the lingering effects of drugs – and the sight is such a contrast to the grey, limp figure he'd been only hours before that Sam can't help but feel comforted. He's still painfully aware that he probably owes the man a life-debt by this point, and it's a strange elevation of their previous teasing relationship, but he thinks he can live with that in the knowledge that they are both alive and whole.

"Just never do anything like that to us again, you hear?"

Bucky doesn't so much as twitch, but Sam pretends that his message has been noted.

Besides, between himself and Steve, he imagines those words will be repeated on an endless loop when Bucky finally bothers to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes about this chapter:
> 
> 1) I'm aware that in movie-land characters seem to get hit in the head all the time and are fine, but hey, I haven't miraculously made it half-way through a medical degree only to write off a head injury :P
> 
> 2) I may be taking some liberties with the use of the GCS. Being a Scottish student, every time a lecturer brings up the Glasgow Coma Scale they're always really proud that it's used worldwide, so I used that as justification for Sam knowing it.
> 
> Boring stuff aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I appreciate all your feedback and will try to update the rest as soon as I can.


	6. Chapter 6

For someone who recovers remarkably quickly, Bucky is a terrible patient.

When he first wakes up it's in the early hours of the morning, with Steve having returned from his rest and Sam feeling the urge to doze off in his chair. Any chance of that goes out the window when Bucky starts groaning and bringing his hand up to his head to unconsciously grope at his bandage, and their momentary relief at him coming round is quickly set aside as they spend the next few hours babysitting their groggy friend in order to stop him from making himself worse.

Later, when the drugs have had a chance to wear off and the doctors have completed their numerous assessments, he wakes up properly, looking over to Steve with tired curiosity before clenching his eyes shut and cringing away from the light. The impressive headache that Sam had predicted seems to have come to fruition, and he tries not to appear amused when Bucky spends most of the day buried underneath the covers.

Sam does take pity on the man by closing the curtains and dimming the lights. He's not a sadist after all.

"You ever planning on coming out of there?" he asks, after three hours of only seeing the top of Bucky's head peeking out from beyond white sheets. Steve had been called away barely an hour ago to catch up on reports from elsewhere in the city, and his absence has left Sam in the role of sympathetic observer. He quickly learns that he's not very good at it.

"No," is the stubborn response to his question, and he watches as Bucky manages to wrap the sheets even more tightly around himself. "S'comfy."

"I can imagine," Sam jokes. "Must be nice getting to spend all day in bed. Maybe I should try getting knocked out."

He watches as a silver metal hand gracefully emerges from underneath the sheets, before promptly flipping the bird. It takes a lot of effort not to break into laughter; he knows the noise will likely just make Bucky feel worse.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you," he says, and a soft 'hmm' from under the covers signals that Bucky's aware of this. "Take all the time you need. You've earned it."

There's no sound from the other man for a few hours after that, and when he finally emerges from hiding it's only to drink some water and take his painkillers before he drifts back to sleep. Sam doesn't take note of his own exhaustion until his eyes start to creep shut and his head lolls, and he's grateful when he finally feels Steve's gentle hand on his shoulder, rousing him just enough that he can go off in search of a bed of his own.

The rest of the week passes in a similar rota. Either Steve or Sam, or occasionally both, will be by Bucky's side at any one time to bring him anything he needs, and Sam quickly loses count of the number of neurological exams he ends up observing. He can only imagine how sick Bucky must be getting of them, but as his consciousness and strength start to return the doctors seem satisfied that he hasn't suffered any major deficit as a result of his injury. Whether that's due to luck or the effects of his serum, Sam doesn't question, but it isn't lost on him that Bucky's back on his feet and reasonably healthy a lot earlier than most people he knows who have suffered similar injuries.

"Why'd you do it?"

The question finally emerges from his lips on the Saturday night, having been bouncing around his skull since Bucky pushed him out of the way of that fateful blast. He looks over to where Bucky is sitting by the window, silently looking out onto the wasteland beyond, and tries to ignore the way a muscle in the man's jaw clenches.

"Why'd I do what?"

Sam resists the urge to hit back with a sarcastic remark. There's a possibility that Bucky had acted purely on instinct; that the decision hadn't been some massive dilemma within his mind in those crucial seconds and that he'd simply acted on mindless impulse. However, if there was more to it than that then Sam needs to know. The man risked death for his sake after all.

"Why'd you take the hit for me?"

He watches as Bucky shrugs and looks down at the hands resting in his lap, as if they are suddenly more interesting than the view. A crushing silence stretches for what feels like hours, and Sam turns away, considering the conversation to have been dropped, before the other man finally speaks up.

"I knew I had more chance of surviving than you did. It made more sense to push you out of the way," Bucky says, his voice even to match the cold logic of his words, and Sam looks back at him to find that his head is raised and he's returned to blankly staring out the window. "Besides, I don't want you to die."

The words surprise Sam more than they should. He's come to mentally associate Bucky as a friend and they've definitely evolved since he half-jokingly declared 'I hate you' on the floor of Leipzig Airport, but they haven't exactly said as much in words. There's been an unspoken agreement that they seem to work well together for several months now, but Sam has never been able to figure out where he truly sits between Bucky and Steve, especially when those two can be so open with each other with no hesitation.

He's surprised to find a warmth settle in his chest as Bucky's words fully sink in, and he smiles softly even though the other man likely can't see it. Just for a moment he can pretend they are back in Wakanda, where it had seemed like nothing could hurt them.

"That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Sam says before his silence can become awkward, and he joins in when Bucky lets out a soft laugh.

"Don't get used to it," he replies teasingly, but when he turns to Sam the smile on his face seems genuine.

"I know. We can't have you being too nice," Sam says with a smirk. He realises now that this is how their dynamic works; that any solemnity between them will be hidden within sarcastic remarks and jokes at each-others' expense, but deep down they do both care, as exasperating as that is. "Thank you though. For what you did. It was dumb as hell, but I'm grateful."

Bucky doesn't respond for a while, not that Sam expects him to. He's said what he needs to, and he feels lighter for it without needing further input. He waits for a few moments, however, soaking in the comfortable silence he knows he is unlikely to find anywhere else, before getting to his feet with the intention of leaving Bucky in peace.

He's barely made it to the door when he's stopped by the loud creak of Bucky's chair turning and a soft "Sam?" that forces him to look back.

Bucky's turned to face him, his expression soft and eyes surprisingly kind in the dim light of the room. He's looking well now, all things considered; the only indicator that he was even injured so recently being the shaved area at the back of his head and the already faint scar running along the scalp. He seems tired, but apart from that Sam can almost forget his stressful efforts to drag him to the hospital. Almost.

"Thanks for bringing me back here," Bucky says eventually, and Sam merely nods in response.

There seems to be an unspoken implication that they're now even hanging in the air, and though he doubts he'll ever be able to shake the feeling of owing Bucky a life-debt, he's able to share a genuine smile with him and walks out the door feeling lighter than he had when he'd walked in.

* * *

When Thanos finally makes an appearance, only days later, it's with a similar fanfare that headlined the attack in New York five years prior.

Turning on the news brings one face-to-face with images of colourful portals opening in the sky releasing swarms of alien creatures upon the earth below, and it isn't long before they're wreaking more devastation than the army can handle. The chaos seems to be bringing hitherto unknown (to Sam, anyway) heroes out into the open, including a Sorcerer with the rather appropriate surname of Strange, and even Thor has returned from the skies, but even the presence of their larger-than-life allies isn't quite enough to send hope flooding through Sam's veins.

Evacuation efforts are in full force throughout New York and a state of emergency has been issued, and it isn't long before the Avengers are summoned to a final mission brief by head government officials in a desperate bid to prevent an apocalypse. The flight to the underground base where said briefing will take place passes mostly in silence, as if the bizarre reality of their situation is slowly sinking in, and it's a relief when Bucky strikes up a quiet conversation which pulls Sam out of the frantic thoughts firing through his mind.

"I fucking hate the future."

The statement, plus the grim tone in which Bucky says it, has Sam laughing before he can stop himself, although he's grateful for the respite. "Really? I thought it was starting to grow on you."

That gets a small shrug from Bucky, before the other man turns his attention to the world beyond the window. He's used the excuse of his injury to get his hair trimmed, and the fact that he now looks more like his 1940s self seems to add some validity to his words. "The music's good. The movies are good. All the medical advancements are amazing. But this?" He tilts his head towards to window, and Sam can see a bright purple-blue ring in the sky representing the opening of a portal. "This is just confusing."

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I've been living in the future my entire life and this is weird for me too."

By some miracle, they make it to their destination without incident, although the metal casing of the quinjet isn't quite enough to block out the sounds of explosions and gunfire from the outside world. The base is a fairly non-descript military compound, with armed guards stationed everywhere Sam turns and long, clinically white corridors giving off board-rooms and weapon-stores on both sides. Their company looks hilariously out of place when they gather around a long table in one of the boardrooms – sorcerers and super-soldiers and spies and gods and individuals Sam isn't sure he can even categorise striking a vast contrast to the sharp-suited military men in the room – but there's a sobriety in the atmosphere that seems to have bled any humour from the situation.

The mission brief is surprisingly normal, in spite of its contents, and once Sam's familiar with his role in the fight (essentially kill as many aliens as he can and provide aid to any civilians and/or Avengers who need it) he finds it easy to zone out and try to mentally come to terms with the fight ahead of him. It's strangely nice to see team-mates he hasn't caught up with in months, and it's a relief to see Rhodey walking with the aid of one of Stark's contraptions after the brutal circumstances in which Sam had last seen him.

Even seeing Tony makes Sam feel oddly relieved; it seems their current circumstances has given him a perspective in which their bitter feud from all those months ago hardly seems to matter now.

He doesn't miss the way Stark occasionally glances towards their corner of the table, his gaze fixed on Bucky for long seconds before returning to whoever's speaking. A quick look to the side shows Sam that Bucky has also noticed, if his frozen posture and downcast eyes are any indication, and it's a bitter reminder of the circumstances in which the pair had been left.

The rest of the brief passes painfully slowly, and Sam can't mistake the itch to fight crawling under his skin, and when Steve finally goes to the head of the table and gives a final inspirational speech (" _Any of you get killed, I will personally drag you kicking and screaming back to life_ " is the gist of it) there's a sense of relief in the air; an acknowledgement that it's finally time for something to be done.

In spite of the pessimistic tone in which the majority of the meeting had been delivered, sans Steve's words, there's a buzz of excitement as the Avengers – plus new friends – start following their leader out of the room, a sense of togetherness that they haven't been able to share in almost a year. It's enough to make Sam almost believe that they can beat anything.

"Barnes, I want to talk to you," Tony's voice sounds from behind them as they make to leave, and it strikes Sam that the words are clipped as if they've been forcibly pried from Stark's mouth. He turns to see the other man standing at the head of the table, as if keeping his distance, and there's a blankness to his expression that refuses to betray his intentions.

"Is now really the best time, Stark?" he asks, even as he hears Bucky utter a soft "Sam…" behind him, but he can't help himself from stepping in front of his friend as a human shield. He doubts Tony would try anything here, but the last time the pair had met Bucky had lost an arm and could have been killed, so he can't exactly be too careful.

Tony seems exasperated by his actions, and exhaustion seems to be clinging to him like an invisible cloak. "Just five minutes, Sam, that's all I need. Hell, I'll even let you stay."

He looks back to Bucky, who's stony-faced but hardly defensive, and when he gives a single nod Sam reluctantly steps out of the way of the two men. He doesn't bother filing out of the room like the rest of the Avengers have, but he tries not to appear too defensive when Tony starts warily making his way towards them.

"I, um-" he hesitates in a manner that Sam doesn't think he's ever seen before. "I know what happened wasn't… I know you didn't have a choice."

There's a beat in which none of them make a sound, as if someone has muted the entire atmosphere, and Sam can hear his heart pounding in his chest. It occurs to him that Tony hasn't actually made eye-contact with Bucky yet; that his eyes are darting as if the words he's speaking are for his own benefit and Sam and Bucky are simply uninvolved observers.

"I can't just forget what I saw," Tony says, his eyes lifting to finally look at Bucky. "Believe me I've tried, but I can't. It's never going to be easy to move on from that." He swallows and gives one of those familiar smiles that don't quite meet his eyes, but his expression isn't unkind. "But that wasn't you. I can't waste my life hating you for something you'd never have done if you'd been given a choice."

Time seems to screech to a halt. Sam becomes aware of his every breath, of every minute action from the men before him, and he can't help but feel like a ghost intruding on a stranger's business. He looks to Bucky, sees the conflict on the man's face and the way his eyes can't seem to decide whether they should remain fixed on Tony or not, and he finds that he can't begin to imagine what must be running through his friend's mind.

"I'm so sorry," Bucky says finally, his voice cracking, but his eyes moving to determinedly meet Tony's own.

"I know," the other man nods and gives a weak smile which does little to distract from the wetness in his eyes. The tears refuse to fall however, and Sam notices that the deep breath Tony gives seems to be releasing a crushing weight. "I know."

He wipes his eyes and straightens up, transforming back into the Stark Sam recognises in an instant, before he turns towards the door, seemingly satisfied. He hesitates before leaving however, making to turn a few times as if indecisive, before properly facing the pair again.

"If you ever need that arm looked at," he says, gesturing to the metal prosthetic at Bucky's side. "Just give me a call. I'm dying to know how it works."

With that peace-offering hanging in the air, he finally leaves them alone in the quiet room. Sam feels all tension leave him in a breath, and one look at Bucky shows the man's gaze still fixed on the space where Tony had stood seconds before, as if he's not able to process what just happened.

"You okay?" Sam asks, and the words cause Bucky to jump before looking his way, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I don't know," he replies truthfully, before looking back to the empty space by the door. "I think so."

It's a good enough answer for Sam to smile in relief, and he takes the lead as they finally leave the boardroom in order to get ready for the battle ahead.

* * *

While the threat they are up against is ultimately bigger than Sam has ever dreamed of facing, there's a familiarity in the moments where they're all suiting up and gathering weapons.

If he wipes his mind of the last few weeks and any knowledge he has of aliens falling from the sky and sorcerers wielding magic, this could be a normal Avengers mission. To his right, he can see Natasha and Clint gathering weapons and gadgets and helping each other with their battle-armour; Tony and Rhodey are suited up and locked in an intense conversation with Vision, T'Challa and the young Spiderman; Wanda and Scott seem to be curiously listening in on the likely bizarre conversation Thor and the newcomer Doctor Strange are having. They're an eclectic group, certainly, but they're mostly friends he's known for a long time and having them all together in one space feels absurdly normal.

He's found himself in one hell of a social circle, he notes with a disbelieving laugh. Bucky, who's just finished suiting up and is appropriately armed with a rifle, two hand-guns and a knife on his belt, and something that looks suspiciously like a bazooka lying by his feet, turns to face him upon hearing his laugh, but it speaks to the oddness of their situation that he doesn't bother saying anything.

"You guys ready?" Steve asks as he approaches them, having slipped back into his role as leader as easily as he would slip on a glove. It seems that Tony has relented and returned his shield to him, and it's nice to see its familiar red and blue sheen in Steve's hands once more.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Sam says, because he knows that ideally he'd need a year to mentally prepare for the weirdness of this situation. They're about to fight a giant purple alien with a collection of potentially planet-destroying stones and an unhealthy need for even more, including the ones fused to Vision's skull and wrapped around Doctor Strange's neck. It's a far cry from his para-rescue missions of old, although he's grateful for the familiar weight of wings at his back and weapons by his side.

"I don't know," Bucky says, looking around without bothering to hide his unease. Sam had almost forgotten that this would technically be his first time as an Avenger. "You ever think we should have just stayed in Brooklyn all those years ago?"

Steve laughs and follows Bucky's gaze around the room. "Yeah well, hindsight is a powerful thing."

"It wouldn't have stopped you from fighting though, would it? If you'd known?" Bucky asks, looking to Steve with eyes that seem to be piercing into his soul. Sam feels like he's getting an exclusive glimpse into their long history, and the moment feels so private he wonders if he should look away.

"Probably not," Steve replies, a sad smile gracing his lips, and for the first time since meeting him, Sam can see the weight of his hundred years on his face. He's never thought of Steve as old before – hell, there's been times where he'd almost thought of the man as a little brother – but though his face remains as young now as it always has, there's a hint of weariness in those blue eyes that betrays his years.

The moment passes almost as quickly as it arises, and both Steve and Bucky look to Sam as if inviting him in. "So you know the plan?" Steve asks, aiming his question at them both.

"Hit them harder than they hit us. Prioritise civilians and get them to safety. Kick this Thanos guy's ass, and try not to get killed," Sam says, and he can see Bucky fail to contain a smile in his peripheral vision. "That's about the gist of what I picked up from the meeting."

"That's about it," Steve says with a shrug and a smile, and the sight of his nonchalance is enough to make Sam believe they can win. "It's not going to be easy, but we have a responsibility to take every chance we can get to beat them. And be careful with Thanos. Vision, Thor and Strange can deal with him, but if he gets close to you, run."

"Always good advice," Bucky interjects, and Sam nods in agreement. The alien hordes, they can deal with. Hell, even Thanos on his own could probably be taken out with a bullet to the head (or a bazooka, if Bucky has any ideas). Coming to terms with his limitations has been a constant since joining the Avengers, however, and Sam is realistic enough to know there's little he can do against an infinity stone. He's happy enough with leaving that to the people who actually have superpowers.

"Hey Cap?"

They all turn to face Tony, who's completely suited up with the exception of his exposed face, and notice that the rest of their team seem to have crowded around him. "I've just heard word from Fury. It's about time we headed off."

Steve nods at him, and takes a deep breath in one final act of preparation for the fight ahead. He looks between Sam and Bucky, his face that of a leader, before asking; "You two sure about this?"

"Course we are," Sam says without hesitation, and although he can feel the apprehension buried deep in his gut, he finds that he's telling the truth.

"To the end of the line, remember?" Bucky gives as his own response and Sam smiles privately at hearing the words that have followed his two friends for decades, before looking up and realising that both pairs of eyes are on him.

Sam looks between them in confusion, struck dumb by the sudden attention which feels inappropriate. He briefly wonders if he's missed something, if he's zoned out and missed a question, but its Bucky and Steve's mantra that comes back to him; that promise that they'd stay together even through the ugliest of times; the words that have become a symbol of their unbreakable bond. They should be looking into each other's eyes as they say them, sharing private smiles instead of including him-

Oh.

The weight of the implication hits him like a punch in the chest, and for a few endless seconds the sense of unworthiness threatens to smother him. Something must change in his face, because he notices Steve lowering his head as if trying to hide a smile, and he feels the gentle weight of Bucky's arm on his shoulder.

The words come to his lips without him meaning them too, but when said aloud there's something about them that feels right.

"To the end of the line."

Bucky and Steve share a look of what Sam thinks might be pride, although he isn't exactly in a position to guess, before they start walking towards the rest of their company. They all walk together, a single unit, and Sam doesn't think he's felt this complete since he had Riley by his side. He almost misses Steve's simple order of "Let's go" addressed to the rest of their team, but that hardly matters when following him seems to have become instinct.

This is a fight they could easily lose. It's going to be brutal and there will undoubtedly be losses no matter how desperately they try to avoid them.

And yet, in this moment, Sam feels like he could take on the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not overly familiar with any plans Marvel have for Infinity War and am trying to avoid details so I can watch it unspoiled, so this is absolutely not an accurate representation of how the events in the films will turn out. Hopefully it's still okay though :) As always, thank you so much for all of your feedback and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Rather predictably, it doesn't take long for everything to go to shit.

Sam's lost track of how many bullets he's fired into the skeletal faces of their attackers, or the number of times he's had to swerve to avoid being shot out of the sky, but a deep ache of exhaustion weighs heavily on him as he watches yet another creature fall dead before his eyes. He's covered in the grey of their blood, and a fair amount of red as well from the injured or dying civilians he's tried to help, and the stench of it is enough to make him gag. Destruction surrounds him at every turn; entire city blocks have been reduced to rubble, and though he helps to evacuate as many as he can, he knows it's nowhere near enough.

It doesn't help that beyond their trio, he has very little idea of how anyone else is doing. Their communication was cut out hours ago, and only the sight of Steve and Bucky fighting by his side is enough to reassure him that he isn't the only fighter left. Occasionally, however, he'll spot Iron Man and War Machine flying through the air, trying to contain some unseen threat, and tell-tale lightning seems to follow Thor wherever he goes. Their combined efforts seem to have been enough to contain the chaos to Manhattan Island, although he can't help but wonder if that's by Thanos' design, and as he helps yet another group of terrified families cross the river, he hopes that the army's evacuation efforts will protect as many in the remainder of the city as they can.

A blast which just soars past his head is enough to tell Sam that he's getting careless. He turns, ready to fire, but finds that Bucky's done the job of planting a bullet in the creature's skull for him. He nods in gratitude, before leaning over and planting his hands on his knees, catching his breath as fatigue threatens to crush him. The familiar weight of Bucky's hand on his shoulder is enough to anchor him, and he nods half-truthfully when he's asked if he's okay.

He doubts any of them will be okay after this, but it won't help to say as much out loud.

They both turn at the sound of something running towards them, only to relax when it's Steve's face that emerges from the fog of ash. The man looks as beaten as Sam feels, his face drawn and his hair grey with dust, and even his shield seems to have lost its sheen over the course of their fight.

"I take it you're not bringing good news?" Sam asks, his voice raspy from the effort of the last few hours, and he notices Bucky give a mirthless laugh as if the same question had been running through his mind.

A reluctant shake of the head is his answer. "We've just about managed to contain their army, but…" Steve looks back to where a large, sparking portal is still spilling ships and grotesque flying creatures upon them, albeit less frequently than before. "Thanos has taken hostages. People who couldn't get out in time. He wants us to face him."

Well that's a trap lying in wait if Sam has ever seen one. He tries not to dwell on the fact that Thanos's continued existence means their advanced guard probably isn't enough to beat him.

"What about Vision and Strange? Have we heard from them?"

"Not since we lost the comms," Steve says, the slump of his posture the only indication he gives of his own exhaustion. "I caught up with Tony though, when he came over to check on us. He thinks… he thinks he saw Thanos with the Mind Stone."

"Oh," Sam says, the word sounding dead to his ears. Beside him he hears Bucky swear under his breath and the unmistakeable crash of a metal fist punching a wall.

The moment stretches for an unbearably long time, with seconds feeling like hours. Sam's pretty sure he stops breathing, if the burning in his chest is any indication, and he realises that he can't see beyond the endless grey that surrounds them.

The fact that he's even able to speak surprises him, but the words he says sound as lifeless as he feels. "We're going to him, aren't we?"

"You two don't have to-"

"Bullshit!" Bucky says finally, the fury in his voice barely enough to hide his weariness, and when he looks over to Sam he can tell that they're on the same page. "We're going with you."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, managing a smile despite the direness of their situation and his likely impending demise. He notices that Steve's looking at them both with a mix of pride and frustration, the burden of responsibility not quite enough to extinguish the desire to fight with his friends by his side. "Sorry Cap, you're stuck with us."

There's a beat in which Sam half expects his friend to order them to stay behind, but what they get instead is a resigned nod and a forcefully cheerful "Then, let's go."

The journey to the wasteland that serves as Thanos' meeting place is surprisingly uneventful. What few creatures they encounter are easily defeated, the trio working together like clockwork every time an enemy presents itself, and Sam briefly mourns the fact that they haven't had more of this throughout the years.

Not that that's anything he can dwell on, when arriving at their destination presents them with a crowd of terrified civilians, including far too many children, surrounded by alien guards scuttling around the ruined shells of skyscrapers. Thanos is nowhere in sight, which is a mercy if ever there was one, but there's a strange undercurrent of something dangerous in the air, as if they'll suddenly be pushed back by an unannounced wave of electricity.

As they crouch behind an upturned truck, Sam tries to wipe his mind clean of their extra-terrestrial threat and focuses on the faces of the people in the crowd; the mothers clutching their crying, confused children close with the aim of protecting them at all costs; the elder siblings gently holding the hands of the younger; the police officers and firefighters and soldiers who have moved to the outskirts of the circle to form a human shield. It's them who matter now, who have always mattered, and Sam knows he will endure whatever it takes to protect them.

"I'm going to cause a distraction," Steve whispers under his breath, and both Sam and Bucky look at him with an expression that pretty much calls him a reckless idiot to his face. Annoyingly, their synchronisation only makes him smile. "You two use the opportunity to take out the guards and get as many people out of here as you can. Don't wait up; you get them straight to safety, understand?"

Sam opens his mouth to protest, and Bucky too seems particularly reluctant to obey his friend's request, but there's a sternness in Steve's eyes that stops them. They both know he's right, that their aim has been to prioritise civilians from the start, but that doesn't mean they need to be happy about Steve being reckless in the process.

That said, it's not like he gives them a choice in the matter. His order has barely been uttered before he's running off, disappearing into the skeletal remains of nearby buildings, taking the long route around the waiting horde. Sam and Bucky are left waiting with baited breaths for the inevitable signal that Steve's got himself into trouble as a distraction, and it comes minutes later in the form of gunfire mixed with the harsh metallic blasts from their enemy's weapons.

"That's our cue," Sam says, as the uproar sends several of the alien guards barrelling in Steve's direction, and without hesitation they leap out from their hiding place and start to attack those that remain.

Sam feels himself drift into instinct, where only killing the creatures that attack him matters. He watches, detached, as one drops after another with each pull of the trigger, and only the background noise of Bucky doing the same acts as an indicator that the man is even there. There's perhaps twenty still gathered around the civilians, and Sam counts eight falling at his hand before turning to realise the only one left is seconds away from getting its throat slashed by Bucky. He watches as his friend lashes out with his knife, his expression feral, and the creature finds itself bleeding out on the ground before it even has a chance to raise its weapon.

The bloodlust vanishes as quickly as it arose, and Sam feels the ache in his muscles start to return along with a burn at his side that suggests he's been grazed without realising. He'll live though, and a glance over to Bucky shows that the man has managed to emerge unscathed. They take a split second to cool down before jumping into action, facing the crowd of civilians looking up at them with a mix of awe and terror, and Sam tries to adorn an authoritative manner as he addresses them.

"Let's go," he says to the group of faces, as a few carefully rise to their feet. "We're going to get you out of here. Follow us at all times and whatever you do, stick together. Understand?"

There's the odd 'yes' and widespread nods as more shakily rise to their feet, ready to follow their silently appointed leaders. Sam wanders over to Bucky and notices that the man isn't looking to the crowd, but beyond them, where the distant sounds of fighting can still be heard. It sounds like there's more Avengers with Steve now – Sam thinks he hears the familiar soundtrack of Stark's suits – and he tries to take comfort in the fact that his friend isn't alone.

"I know it sucks, but we need to go," Sam says, as comfortingly as he can manage even though he too itches to join their captain. "He'll be okay."

Bucky looks from Sam back to the distance as if seeing Steve through the maze of buildings, before nodding once and turning his attention to their charges. "We need to move now," he tells them, his tone cutting all bullshit. "It won't be long before they come looking for us."

That seems to rile the civilians into action, and they all obediently follow Sam and Bucky as they make their way along deserted city blocks, constantly on the lookout for threats. Some of the armed soldiers and police-officers surround the group protectively as they move as quickly as they can manage with young children in their care, but thankfully only a few creatures emerge from the shadows on their journey. A young female soldier hands Bucky a spare gun, having noticed that he's run out of ammo, and Sam watches as he smiles at her gratefully.

If nothing else comes out of this, Sam thinks, at least the world will now be able to see his friend as the good man he truly is.

They're halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge when the familiar sounds of the Iron Man suits sound from behind them, and they turn to see Tony and Rhodey land on the tarmac as Wanda gracefully follows in a flash of crimson. They waste no time in joining Sam and Bucky as they transport their charges across the bridge, where they're met by an armed guard who have been helping civilians cross throughout the fight. Sam can't hide his relief as he sees their small gathering returned to safety, and his heart lifts even more when he spots other Avengers approaching the crowd and accompanying them to shelter, but there's a sense of unease buried in his gut as he acknowledges the most notable absence among their group.

"Did you see Steve out there?" he asks Tony, trying not to appear too uneasy when he notices the man's face betraying his own concern.

"Yeah, he was helping us fight Thanos's lackeys," Stark responds, looking back across the river. Curiously, though their attackers are continuing their assault, they don't seem to be extending their territory beyond the water, as if an invisible shield is keeping them at bay. Sam finds little reassurance in that however, especially as Tony's next words sink in.

"He told us to head back. Said you two were evacuating civilians, that he'd go back to find you," Tony looks between Sam and Bucky, as if expecting the third member of their group to appear out of nowhere. "You haven't seen him?"

"Oh Steve, you idiot…" Bucky mutters, breathless as if the implication that has just occurred to Sam has burned its way into his head too.

Steve told them not to wait up; to focus on getting the civilians out of danger. He never planned on re-joining them, regardless of what he told Stark.

He's trying to buy them time.

"I'm going back for him."

Bucky charges back towards the bridge without hesitation, gathering up supplies left behind by some of the battalion in the process, and Sam finds himself numbly following before he's even consciously made the decision to do so.

Before they've even made it halfway across, Sam finds himself blinded by a vibrant green light emanating from the centre of the island, and for several sickening moments he feels the sensation of being pulled backwards and forwards, as if time is locked in an intense battle with itself. Perhaps this is the case; Sam vaguely remembers Doctor Strange discussing his ability to manipulate time should the need arise, and arise it has.

Unfortunately, the sorcerer seems to be locked in a losing battle as every time the buildings start to rebuild from the rubble, a pulling sensation tears through the air and they collapse in a heap once again.

This astral tug of war continues for what feels like hours until the green light is vaporised by a harsh, all-consuming blue.

Sam's never thought of the colour blue as ugly before. Blue is the ocean, and clear skies in Wakanda, and Steve's kind eyes.

In this moment, however, it's a colour he never wants to see again.

He watches as the light consumes the horizon until it obediently stops just before the water, extending towards the grey skies and radiating an intense heat that prickles uncomfortably against Sam's skin even from a distance. It takes all of his strength to hold Bucky back as the man starts to race forward, screaming what might be Steve's name although Sam can hear nothing but the roar of the blast.

He watches as the blue light eventually fades; as the buildings it had consumed crumble into dust like sand in an hourglass, leaving nothing but smoke in its wake.

The silence it leaves behind is deafening. Sam feels nothing but a deep emptiness in his chest and the solid weight of Bucky in his arms. He feels the other man collapse against him, his limbs turned to water, and before Sam can stop himself he falls too, his knees meeting the tarmac of a bridge that now leads to nothing. When sound finally returns to him, it has the same effect as a knife would; he hears Bucky's disbelieving "No, no, no…" and terrified screams from the city behind him and, eventually, Tony barely keeping it together as he calls for help.

"FRIDAY, we need… tell Fury we need backup. We need to search for survivors…"

It takes a while to notice that the portals are gone from the sky; that Thanos has had his fun with this battle and is off to wallow in his victory before striking again. It takes a while for Sam to notice much of anything.

All that pierces through his consciousness is his tight, unrelenting grip on Bucky and an all-too familiar sensation of having his heart torn from his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... *runs and hides*
> 
> Confession time: when I initially laid out the outline for this story (back when it was 5 chapters and not the 10 it's likely to be) I had a downer/bittersweet ending planned. However, the more I've written, the more I've started to feel it probably wouldn't be appropriate for this story. I promise that as grim as the next chapter gets, the story'll ultimately end on an optimistic note :) (Unless you're into angst, in which case the end of next chapter might serve as a more preferable end-point).
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me to this point. The first draft of the next chapter is mostly done, but I've got a busy week coming up so I can't say when the last chapters will be up. I'll definitely aim not to keep you waiting too long though!


	8. Chapter 8

The following days pass in an indistinct blur, buried underground in the base where Sam had last felt whole.

He knows from overhearing whispered conversations that New York was merely a demonstration of power on Thanos' part; a way to batter the Avengers and rob humanity of any hope before launching his final assault. Already there are global reports of attacks by his lackeys, from Johannesburg to London to Delhi, but his aim doesn't seem to be to destroy humanity, but to rule over it. Receiving a cult-like admiration from his followers must have fed his ego, and as the current owner of all existing infinity stones it must be more satisfying to watch billions of people cower in fear than it would be to wipe them out in a single second.

Whatever his motives may be, the message has been sent. It would be suicidal to resist him.

Sam spends most of the aftermath lying in bed, staring into space when sleep refuses to come forth, or beating the shit out of punching-bags in the gym when he's lucky enough to find it deserted. He feels like he's entered a funk where nothing truly exists; where he's been numbed to such an extent that even the relief that more of their team-mates, including Natasha and Clint, have made it out alive barely resonates. When he sees Nat again she gives him a warm hug that he can barely feel and utters words he cannot hear, and it takes more strength than it should to simply give her a small 'thank you'.

He thinks she understands, if the softness of her eyes is any indication.

The party sent to search the blast-site for any survivors return four days later, having yielded little results besides something which apparently requires Sam and Bucky's presence. Reluctantly, he drags himself to the boardroom to which he's been summoned only to find himself face-to-face with Stark, Rhodey, Wanda and, seeming more vulnerable than when Sam had first met him, Fury.

Bucky hasn't bothered to show up, it seems. Sam can't blame him.

"You find anything?" he asks, his voice betraying the fact that he's bone-weary, and the way Stark and Rhodey look at each other has his heart jumping into his throat. It's not good news then, not that it was ever going to be, but the confirmation hurts more than it should.

"Yeah, we-" Tony starts, before taking a deep breath, like that will make any of this easier. He hesitates for several, agonising seconds, leaving Sam with a growing sensation to snap, before he reaches his hands into a metal case tucked beneath the table and pulls its contents into the open. "This was left behind."

Sam feels like he's going to be sick when he sees that familiar shield, spattered with red and cracked in two, and he doesn't realise he's about to collapse until Wanda gently guides him into a chair.

"Maybe he's okay," he says, mostly to himself, and he tries not to notice the way the faces surrounding him fall at his words. "The shield survived when everything else was destroyed, so maybe he…"

"Sam," Tony says, his voice closer than Sam expects, and he looks up to see kind brown eyes looking down at him, showing more sympathy than he should ever receive from Tony Stark. "We think… it looked like the shield was left on purpose. As a taunt."

"Thanos has gotten in touch to brag," Fury says from the head of the table, breaking his silence to reveal that he too is as exhausted as the rest of them. Sam looks over to see the man balancing his head in his hands, as if he would collapse if the support was taken away. "He has Vision and Strange – they're more use to him alive - and Thor's been stranded halfway across the galaxy. He didn't mention Cap. This-" he says, pointing to the broken remains of the shield. "This is all we have."

Sam doesn't say anything, even as the expectant silence drags on uncomfortably. It's strangely easy to tune out his surroundings and focus on the shield in the centre of the table; the shattered item that seems to have provided all their answers and yet isn't enough to shake hopeful uncertainty from Sam's mind. The split between the two halves is ragged and ugly, as if hacked by a knife, and it seems impossible for anything to have caused such damage when Sam has seen the weapon endure so much.

(It will occur to Sam later that the very same could be said for Steve, and the thought will have him slamming a fist against a wall).

It's a relief when the blare of an alarm sounds throughout the compound, a sound now so regular that Sam could set his watch by it, and he rises to his feet with more composure than he expects. "I'm gonna check that out," he says, his voice sounding cold to his ears. God knows how he appears to everyone else in the room. "I need something to do."

The base seems eerily empty as he wanders through deserted corridors in the direction of the exits. Most of the usual occupants are busy throughout the city, providing aid to the vast numbers of injured and displaced civilians, and the blinding red lights and blaring alarms no longer have the power to incite a panicked response as they once did. Instead it's only Sam who climbs the endless stairs to the surface and unbolts the steel doors separating him from the outside world, his gun fitting comfortably in his hands.

When he emerges into the cold night air he finds that he's too late to do anything. Their attackers lie dead or bleeding on the ground, seeming to have been hacked apart by a wild animal, and he spots Bucky relentlessly plunging his knife into the throat of one of the creatures as it shudders in pain.

The knife continues to fall long after the creature goes still, and Sam takes far too long to break from his funk and rush forward to stop his friend's onslaught.

"Get the fuck off me!" Bucky yells as he feels strong arms wrap around him, apparently not having taken in the identity of the new arrival if his vicious attempts to throw Sam off are any indication. "Get off-"

"Hey, Buck, it's me! Look…" It takes more effort than it should to keep his voice steady and composed, but it seems to work. Bucky turns, takes in that it's Sam facing him and not some nameless soldier, and stills in an instant, his protests forgotten. The man looks a state, Sam notes with a jolt; his face and hands covered in the aliens' blood and dark bags hanging under his eyes. He's likely gotten as little sleep as Sam in the last few days, and it seems to have done neither of them any good.

Nothing happens for several moments, and the only sound is the beginnings of rain starting its barrage upon the earth. Sam's about to take Bucky's arm and lead him back inside from the cold, but the other man releases a choked sob and collapses to his knees before he gets the chance. The feeling of cool tarmac against his shins is the only indicator Sam gets that he's apparently done the same.

"They-" Bucky starts, his eyes narrowing in confusion as if his brain refuses to join the dots, and Sam finds that he relates more than he'd like to. He pulls Bucky into a light hug, and his yearning for human contact surprises him; he's been so uncharacteristically distant for the past few days that even this weak contact feels overwhelming. "They killed him, didn't they?"

The question cuts like a knife, but even as denial screams loudly in Sam's head, he finds himself uttering a broken "Yeah, looks like."

Bucky releases a shuddering breath and clenches his eyes shut, before burying his face in Sam's chest like a child trying to hide away from the world. They must seem ridiculous, clinging to each other in the rain, but in that moment, he can't bring himself to care.

It will provide a small comfort later, when they make their way inside and drown their sorrows with burning whisky, that neither of them are truly as alone as they feel.

It's not enough though. Sam doubts it ever will be.

* * *

Another week passes with nothing but misery on the news, and though Sam knows he should probably take some of it in if he's going to continue to fight, the temptation to tune it out and remain ignorant is achingly tempting.

The decision to rejoin the fight takes longer than it should. When the offer arises ( _from T'Challa, of course, because that man has extensive experience in serving his people even in the midst of overwhelming grief)_ his answer is a definite no that surprises even him.

It takes a whole night for the choice to wage a war within him; a night in which he curses everyone from Thanos to Stark to himself for ever thinking that stopping to make friends with a certain stranger while on a run was ever a good idea.

The wish that he had never met Steve all those years ago sticks with him for a shamefully long time. Tied to it is the wish that he didn't care so much; that he didn't have to constantly lose people who meant the world to him; that he could be sat at home in D.C. watching the chaos on a television screen, horrified but detached, rather than experiencing it first-hand.

He comes to his senses soon enough when he remembers that not meeting Steve also means not meeting people like Wanda and T'Challa and Bucky. That meeting Steve made him better and spared him from years of living alone with the memories of war. That in spite of the pain, meeting Steve was one of the best things that ever happened to him.

He informs T'Challa that he's willing to fight the morning after giving him a hard no, and he tries not to notice the pride on the king's face before he walks away.

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

It's not the first question Sam had expected to ask when he'd been called for yet another meeting in a stuffy boardroom, but it's the one that leaves his mouth without hesitation. He can see from the exasperated faces of his peers that it's likely the response they expected, but that doesn't make their proposal any more attractive.

The shield sits in the centre of the table once more, restored into a single entity with a silver metallic strip along the crack indicating the new Vibranium provided by T'Challa. Alongside it lies a folded suit, the red, white and blue visible in the torso while the legs are a less extravagant black. Deep down, Sam thinks he knows where this is all heading, and the idea has nausea rising in his gut.

"Sam," Tony says, trying to sound patient despite the tired lines on his face and the stiffness of his posture. The same exhaustion is mirrored on everyone's faces it seems; so much for 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes'. "The world has its eyes on us. They're watching everything we do, and they're watching us lose. We need to give them a reason to hope."

"The answer's no," he says, with more venom than he intends. There's a bitter taste in his mouth at the implication of what he's being asked to do, and the fact that Bucky apparently hasn't been invited to this meeting feels like a cruel joke. "Me replacing Steve isn't going to give anyone hope. It's just being callous for the sake of it."

"We're not asking you to replace him. That isn't… Look, if we do this, it shows we can move on. That we're not afraid to keep fighting no matter what's thrown at us," Tony says, raising his voice likely more than he's intending to. Sam's impressed; it's like the man actually believes the bullshit he's saying (likely Fury's bullshit, although he supposes it could also be the government's). "Captain America was a symbol we can-"

" _Steve_ wasn't just some fucking symbol-"

"I know!" Tony says, finally snapping, and the silence that follows indicates than no-one was really expecting him to. The room isn't exactly packed - Wanda sits in the corner looking extremely uncomfortable, Natasha seems as impassive as ever although there's doubtless a lot running through her mind, and T'Challa seems merely curious – but the quiet makes Sam feel like thousands of eyes are on him. "I know he wasn't. But we're losing more people than we save, and everyone knows it. I get it, this sucks and it _hurts_ , but the world needs a small glimmer of hope right now. Seeing the shield back in action might be a start."

"So, you want me to be a propaganda piece?" Sam asks, and the guilt that flickers across Tony's face shows he's hit the nail on the head.

"No, I don't," he replies, and though Sam fights to spot the lie, he realises that Stark is being honest. "But we're desperate."

Sam shakes his head, releasing his barely restrained anger in a breath. He's too tired for this, even when the logic starts to sink in. He thinks of the children who might feel better when they see Captain America fighting on the news; thinks of Thanos having to realise that his vicious taunts can only do so much harm.

The chair creaks unpleasantly against the floor as he rises to his feet, his eyes fixed on the shield lying on the table. The sight only makes him feel numb now, as if his ability to feel pain has been drained completely over the last few weeks, and he avoids eye contact with everyone else as he walks towards the door.

"I'll think about it," he says, half-heartedly, before he leaves. "But you should probably start looking for someone else."

* * *

A clock is ticking somewhere, and Sam wastes many minutes just listening to it, closing his eyes and slowing his breath, using its rhythm as a lullaby. Occasionally Bucky will breathe loudly or shift in his seat, momentarily disturbing the peace without meaning to, but Sam doesn't mind. The reminder that his friend is with him brings almost as much comfort as the dependable ticking.

"What do you think I should do?" he asks eventually, knowing he can't skirt around the issue forever. He opens his eyes, carefully avoiding looking at the shield on the table in front of him, and meets Bucky's curious gaze.

The other man is curled up on a chair to Sam's right, already suited up in preparation for the inevitable call to battle, but there's a softness in his eyes that contrasts with the harshness of his clothes. Sam's explained the situation to him, and was surprised to find that the other man didn't react with anger or disgust. If anything, he seemed resigned to the idea.

Bucky leans back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs in search of a helpful answer, but Sam doesn't rush him. It's easier to indulge in the illusion that they have all the time in the world, and the more time they waste, the longer he can put off accepting the brutal reality they've found themselves in.

It's a surprise when Bucky finally does speak up, and Sam hangs on every word like a man dying of thirst would savour every drop of water.

"Back in the war, just after he broke us free from Hydra, Steve… he asked me if I'd be willing to follow Captain America into the jaws of death."

Sam watches as a small smirk makes its way onto Bucky's face, and tries to imagine his friends all those decades ago, only able to comprehend the war they were currently fighting rather than the many they'd be forced to endure in the future.

"My answer was no," Bucky continues, and he smiles weakly at Sam's surprise. "You have to understand that, back then, Captain America was nothing but a propaganda piece. He toured around the country, selling the war as this glorious effort while good men, men I knew, died day after day. Every time a new comic arrived at camp, we'd laugh like it was some big joke. Hell, I didn't even know he was Steve at that point."

He stops for a while, his eyes seemingly lost in the past. Sam turns his attention back to the shield - thinks of the way Fury and Tony want him to use it purely for the sake of public image – and wonders if anything has really changed over the years.

"It wasn't Captain America's superiors who sent him into that Hydra compound though; that was all Steve. And every battle after that – every life saved by 'Captain America' – that was Steve too. And I'd follow Steve into Hell if he asked."

Bucky looks up at Sam, and an unspoken understanding flies between the two of them. It's a sentiment they both share; Steve was a pivotal part of both their lives and he managed it just as fully out of costume as he did in it. Captain America was merely a title, one he'd even been willing to give up in Siberia in order to carry Bucky to safety. It was Steve who had mattered.

"I'm not replacing what he was," he says, making sure that they truly understand each other. "I never could."

"I know," Bucky says, getting to his feet and approaching Sam at the head of the table. "But like before, I'm not following Captain America. I'm following you, Sam."

Sam nearly jumps as a firm hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly, reminding him that he's solid and alive and that he can still do something that matters. He looks into Bucky's eyes and finds that it's easier to smile than he expects, and he feels a forgotten lightness fill his chest when the smile is returned.

"To the end of the line, then?" he asks, still unused to those words coming from his lips.

"To the end of the line," Bucky responds, his smile widening, though not quite enough to reach his eyes. Sam doubts his own is convincing either. "Which let's face it, is probably just around the corner."

Sam laughs, in spite of everything, and for the first time in two weeks he feels human. The numbness that has swallowed him starts to fade away and he feels solid and complete, if a little fractured. There's still a gaping hole in their trio – there always will be – but there's a battle that still needs to be fought, and though Sam doubts they'll win, he knows they'll give it everything they have.

As the alarm blares throughout the compound once again - the final call to war – Sam knows there's nothing else for it.

He picks up the shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you believe me when I say it gets better after this? Because I promise it does. As dark as these two chapters have gotten, the next one should start a return to the more hopeful tone that started off this story. Again, it's probably a better place to leave it than somewhere so bittersweet.
> 
> I'll aim to get the next part done as soon as I can, but in the meantime, I hope this one was okay!


	9. Chapter 9

It doesn't take long for Sam to learn that hope can arrive in many surprising forms. Namely, an armada of Asgardians plus a familiar Hulk led by Thor, and a group of colourful individuals calling themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Sam's not sure how much faith he has in their new allies, especially when one of them looks suspiciously like a racoon, and honestly he's getting pretty sick of constant weirdness being thrown his way as if his life has become a drug-fuelled trip, but he's hardly going to refuse the offer of help. The extra manpower seems to be making a difference, if their ability to fight for five hours without being wiped out is any indication, and he can only hope that Thanos is starting to feel less like a victor and more like someone who needs to watch his back.

The fight's been brought to Washington D.C. this time around. Sam tries to ignore a growing sense of déjà vu as he powers through faceless hordes of aliens set on terrorising the city streets, as well as the unfamiliar weight of the shield in his hands, and instead focusses on the sensation of wind against his face as he flies and the endless chatter from the comms. Not much of what is being said is helpful, but it's a reminder that his team-mates are alive and kicking and it's a vast improvement over the silence that had so often accompanied him in New York.

The new arrival, Peter Quill, seems to be dominating the conversation for the moment, although Stark's voice is usually present as well:

" _So, what is it you guys are avenging anyway?"_

" _I'm pretty sure you'll find the answer if you take a look around."_

" _Fair enough. I thought it was just some pretentious name you thought sounded cool."_

" _Hmm. So tell me, Space Dork. If you're the 'Guardians of the Galaxy', how come we've never heard of you?"_

Sam tries not to smirk at Quill's scandalised response, and instead focuses on the immediate threat in front of him. The portals have returned to the skies, seeming to spark blue electricity towards the earth even as the barrage of creatures emerging from their depths seem to die down. From what he's heard, Thor and his army have managed to contain most of the creatures and are handling them pretty much single-handedly, and though Thanos seems to be in hiding, Hulk, Wanda and the Guardians are on the hunt for him. Sam and Bucky are mostly responsible for cleaning up the dregs of alien hordes that have managed to escape Thor's barricade, and he's grateful that they provide little enough challenge that he can become mindless as he mows them down.

It's a lot easier to fight when throwing aside his mental baggage, he finds. He wonders if Bucky feels the same.

Their fight slowly takes them towards Capitol Hill, with every street they turn into becoming more and more deserted. Sam barely has the ability to flinch at the sight of smoking buildings reduced to broken husks by this point; it isn't long before they're brought face-to-face with something more disturbing anyway.

"What the hell?" Bucky mutters under his breath, and Sam finds himself silently echoing the sentiment.

Before them is a crowd of around five hundred civilians, all armed with weapons ranging from knives to baseball bats, and one look into their faces shows eyes which seem to have been forged in ice; the lifeless blue resembling the colour of the horrifying blast that had destroyed a good chunk of New York.

It takes longer than it should for him to connect the dots and link what he's seeing with reports from the Avengers' very first outing – how Loki's sceptre had been able to turn good people into murderous slaves – and by the time he's figured out exactly what's happening, the crowd have already started to advance.

"Shit," he shouts as the horde races towards them, and he only has a second to react when he sees Bucky raise his gun in defence. "Don't! They're under Thanos's control; they don't know what they're doing."

Bucky lowers his gun without hesitation, knowing the sickening implications of Sam's words better than most. After a split second that seems to stretch for hours, Sam leaps towards Bucky and grabs him before extending his wings and taking flight, swearing under his breath when his muscles protest at having to support the man's weight. They set off just in time to evade the crowd however, and Sam looks down to see them staring up at him with bloodlust in their faces, like a pack of zombies who've just been denied a meal.

He carries Bucky as far as he can until necessity demands they land before he accidentally lets go, and he descends upon a blown apart, but mercifully deserted, street. The landing is rougher than he'd like, courtesy of having to juggle a super-soldier and a shield in his arms, and Bucky collapses in a heap when he's finally released, still reeling from their sudden flight.

Sam resists the urge to tease him, despite how nice it would be to revel in their old dynamic for a little while, and instead speaks into his microphone, addressing the Avengers who are hopefully still fighting somewhere.

"Avengers, it's Sam. We've just come across a crowd of civilians we think are under the influence of the mind stone, or whatever the hell it's called. There's probably more of them out there. If they see you they'll try to attack, but it's important that you don't hurt them. They don't have control over their actions."

He tries to swallow a wave of hatred towards Thanos; tries to keep his head cool in a situation where it's desperately needed, but it's far more difficult than he'd like. He's seen mind control tear people apart far too many times, and the idea that hundreds of innocent civilians, perhaps even children, have been forced to become vicious killers against their will makes him feel sick. He only hopes that his message has been noted – that none of them will be hurt – but there's no guarantee of that if their only goal is to attack Thanos's opponents en masse.

" _Message noted, Sam. I'll pass it along to everyone else."_

"Thanks, Tony," he replies, before turning abruptly at the tell-tale screech of alien attackers. A group of three have begun to scout the area, and at the sight of Sam and Bucky their weapons have been raised. Sam barely has time to duck behind a pile of rubble before a flash of blue flies past and knocks a chunk out of the building behind him, and a muffled curse and sudden movement at his side is his first sign that Bucky has joined him. He turns to the man and nods once before emerging from his hiding spot and firing his gun at the aliens.

Bucky joins him in a heartbeat, firing a bullet directly into one of the creature's skulls, and Sam raises his shield as another blue blast makes its way towards them. The impact the energy makes against the shield is dizzying, and he finds himself momentarily deafened as the blast ricochets into an upturned car, reducing it to a flaming mess. There's only one creature left at this point – Bucky having been able to take out another – and Sam throws the shield towards the last with as much force as he can.

The weapon collides against the creature's neck with a satisfying crack, and Sam crosses the street to reclaim it, breathless from the fight and feeling sweat crawl down his neck at the heat from the flames. He revels in the silence for a few moments – the calm before another inevitable storm – but any peace he can indulge in is shattered when he looks up and sees Bucky's face.

The man isn't looking his way, but at something just behind him. Instinct screams at Sam to turn around and look for himself, but he's momentarily caught in the way Bucky's face has gone white, his breath trapped in his chest and his mouth open with the intention of saying words that refuse to come forth.

When he finally utters a choked "Sam," the curiosity becomes more than Sam can bear, and he turns around.

His heart seems to sink into a pit in his stomach and he can feel the blood drain from his face as his mind becomes blank. He thinks he breathes, although it seems to take a lot of effort to do so, and it's like what his eyes are telling him has turned his legs to water. By some miracle he manages to remain standing, but it's the only display of strength he's capable of, as when he tries to speak the word comes out in a breathless whisper.

"Steve?"

The sight of the man he'd assumed to be dead should have hope racing through his heart, but Sam can't dwell on that. Steve looks like he's been dragged through hell; the fabric of his uniform torn and frayed and covered in a sickening dried red. His hands are covered in crusted blood as well, and Sam can't help but think that not all of it is his own.

The worst part is Steve's eyes. Kind, warm blue has given way to ice; his expression reduced to thoughtless steel.

Sam's seen that shade of blue enough times today to know exactly what he's facing, and he feels an overwhelming urge to be sick.

The weight of everything they're seeing has no time to sink in before Steve charges, fist held back ready to strike, and Sam thanks whatever reflexes compel him to raise the shield on time. The impact of the punch sends shockwaves throughout his arms, shaking his very bones, and even the shield seems to protest with a sharp shriek. Steve's fist is pulled back for another hit, and Sam edges backwards as much as he dares, but the punch doesn't have time to land before it's halted by a metal fist emerging from Sam's side.

"Steve, this isn't you!" Bucky shouts with as much conviction as he can muster, but the words seem to have zero impact on their friend. His empty, ice-blue eyes seem to pierce right through Bucky like he's a piece of meat, and Sam resists the urge to shudder as he slams the shield into the man's wrist, forcing him to let go of Bucky's arm. The impact doesn't even seem to cause pain, although Sam finds himself wondering if Steve can feel it in whatever corner of his mind he's buried in.

Attacking him seems to have been a mistake, for Sam finds himself being the full holder of the man's attention. He dances backwards, away from Steve's every blow, as carefully as he can and raises the shield when it's not quite far enough. He knows this pattern of constantly blocking won't be enough however, and he becomes very aware of his gun in its holster, seeming to burn into his thigh as it begs to be used.

Sam can't use it though. He never could. He spent the last two weeks thinking Steve was dead, seeing his broken body in what few dreams he had, and he knows he can't be responsible for being the true cause of the man's death, even in order to protect himself. Aiming for the shoulder or leg won't be enough to stop him if he can't feel pain and there's nothing Sam can say that will pull the all-consuming influence of the Mind Stone out of Steve's head. Bucky won't dare hurting him either, even if their lives depend upon it. They'll be holding back constantly while Steve attacks without restraint, and Sam knows there's only one way this can end.

They're going to lose.

The notion barely has time to settle in his mind, before a surprise swing from Steve is enough to knock the shield from his grasp. Sam's heart halts and time seems to slow in the second it takes for Steve to take advantage of the new opening and launch himself at him, throwing him onto his back. The impact knocks the breath from Sam's lungs and his vision goes white for a moment, and he barely has time to recover before there's a tight, suffocating grip around his throat.

He hears the word "No!" being shouted off to his side, and sees Bucky approach with the aim of pulling Steve away, but he's thrown back into a wall by a harsh shove. Sam sees the man lying still in his peripheral vision, but he barely has time to feel concern before strong hands return to his throat, cutting off his air.

He pushes against Steve's chest with as much strength as he can muster, before clawing at his arms when that doesn't work, but his weak efforts only make the man tighten his grip. It takes a momentous effort to speak, and when he does the words come out in a choked rasp, barely audible even to his own ears.

"Steve," he starts, the word seeming to burn in his throat. "It's me, it's Sam. Please…"

He thinks he feels those hands loosen their grip a little, can taste delicious oxygen for one brief, heavenly moment, but the battle Steve seems to be fighting in his head appears to be a losing one as the grip tightens once again. Sam fights back as much as he can, even as all energy seems to bleed from him and his lungs scream in his chest, but it isn't long before his vision starts being reduced to static and his consciousness escapes him.

He only has a moment to dwell on what a terrifying creature the super-soldier programme might have created had Steve not been so fundamentally good.

Relief comes with a flash of silver, and the sensation of oxygen filling his lungs once more has him gasping. He coughs violently and turns onto his side as air flows through his throat, causing a burning sensation which he can hardly complain about, and he wastes far too much time waiting for his vision to return before checking to see what's going on.

Bucky doesn't seem to be as badly hurt as Sam feared, as he's been able to wrap his arms around Steve and pull him back while he shouts out reminders that the man in his arms refuses to take in. Steve lashes out viciously, fighting to free himself from Bucky's grip, and it isn't long before he succeeds in throwing Bucky off him and onto the ground.

Bucky falls with a pained grunt, but rises to his feet as quickly as he can and launches himself towards the discarded shield, wielding it just in time to block a fierce blow from Steve. He rises to his feet, stumbling a little in the process, and holds the shield out in front of him as a thin veil of protection.

"Steve, you know us," he says, his words falling on deaf ears as their friend continues his advance. "You've known me since we were kids; you've known Sam since-"

He's silenced when Steve launches a barrage of assaults, trying to aim his blows in the areas unprotected by the shield, but Bucky's reflexes are too quick for any to land on their desired target. The shield screeches in protest with each punch it endures, the sound providing a grotesque symphony to their fight, and Sam tries to rise to his feet in order to help only for his legs to turn to jelly and collapse from underneath him, his body still starved of precious oxygen.

He can only watch as Steve grows bored and ferociously yanks the shield out of Bucky's hands, and the other man barely has time to look stunned before a punch finally lands at the side of his head. Bucky collapses to his knees, dazed, before falling onto his back.

It only takes a second for Steve to straddle him, shield raised, and Sam watches as Bucky instinctively raises his metal arm over his head just in time. There's a sickening screech of metal as the arm is dislocated at the elbow, the underlying mechanics glowing hot as they're exposed, and any strength that holds the arm up leaves Bucky in an instant as it simply flops back down on the tarmac.

The next few moments seem to stretch over hours. All sound leaves Sam's consciousness besides his harsh breaths, and he shakily rises to his feet as he sees the shield held high once more. He stumbles in the direction of his two friends and thinks he yells at Steve to stop, although he can't hear the words. Bucky doesn't bother protecting himself this time, his eyes moving to the blue skies above as a calm, resigned expression crosses over his face. The sight makes Sam's heart leap into his throat.

He prepares to throw himself at Steve, to return Bucky's favour and risk his own life to save him, but time continues to pass in slow motion. He watches the shield linger in the air for a painfully long while, sees something that might be hesitation pass over Steve's face, and a foolish hope crosses over him before he watches, powerless, as the shield begins its descent.

It's in that moment that a thrum of energy launches through the air, piercing them as easily as wind and carrying a flurry of dust with it, and Sam finds himself being thrown back as his vision darkens.

* * *

Sam isn't sure how long he lies there, his cheek resting against cool tarmac and his lungs breathing in the dust. He's curled on his side and so exhausted he could just sleep and let the rest of the battle go on without him, and he must doze for a few moments as he ends up waking with a start, fighting for air. He should get up, he knows, but he's terrified of what he's going to find when he does, and it's just so much nicer to keep his eyes closed and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't matter.

Sound returns to him eventually, and it's a surprise when the silence gives way to reveal someone struggling to sit up from the rubble, while another seems to be catching their breath. The sound provides some reassurance that Sam isn't alone, and it's this promise that has him sitting up, groaning as his muscles protest with every movement.

All three of them are sitting up and looking around at their surroundings, stunned. The shield lies beside Bucky, mercifully not having delivered a fatal blow, and the man looks towards Sam with a weak smile before they both turn their attention to Steve.

Their friend's eyes are narrowed in concentration, his every breath deliberate, and Sam isn't sure how long he spends watching his every action before he sees a relieved sob escape him.

"It's gone," Steve says, the words emerging in a barely-there whisper. A brief, disbelieving laugh leaves him before turning into a choked sob, and he leans back against an abandoned car, suddenly drained. "It's gone."

Sam notices that his eyes are now a familiar shade of blue, with just the slightest hint of green, and a wonderful relief threatens to overwhelm him as well.

Both he and Bucky edge closer to Steve, cautious, as if afraid he'll disappear if they get too close, but it's Bucky who gives into temptation first and throws his arms around him. Sam notices that he's shaking and that silent tears are pricking at his eyes, and it's only now that he acknowledges his own and furiously wipes the salt from his face.

He wastes no time in joining the hug and finds himself being pulled in more tightly by Bucky, and he closes his eyes and simply indulges in the sensation of being able to hold the people who matter most to him; both of them alive and breathing in spite of all that they've faced. He hears Steve whisper "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" in between sobs, likely not ignorant to the brutal fight they've all emerged from, but his apologies are rescinded by Bucky's constant mantra of "It wasn't you, Steve."

Sam can't tell if he himself is saying anything, although it would explain why he keeps hearing a choked voice saying "you're here, you're alive" over and over.

The world could end in this moment. They could be wiped out in a heartbeat, and he wouldn't care one bit.

Sam looks up and is surprised to see only a blue, portal-less sky looking back; the barrage of creatures he's come to expect absent from sight. It's strange how little impact the image has on him, although he does get a brief sense that he must be dreaming even when the ache from every muscle seems to be telling him otherwise.

A whir of mechanics and the clunk of something returning to earth has them all looking up to see Tony, who suddenly goes still as his eyes fix on Steve. The man looks as battered as Sam feels, nursing an impressive black eye and wearing a suit that seems to have more scrapes than untouched paint, but his eyes brighten as what he's seeing finally sinks in, and he collapses to his knees in front of the trio as if the weight of the battle has only just hit him.

"You're not exactly in the habit of staying dead, are you?" he asks teasingly, although even the joke isn't enough to hide the extent of his relief.

Steve laughs weakly, his exhaustion evident. "Apparently not."

Tony seems to fight an internal battle for several seconds before giving in and dragging Steve into what must be a fairly uncomfortable hug thanks to the Iron Man suit, but neither of them seem to mind. Sam notices Tony drop any pretence the minute Steve can't see him – watches as he blinks away tears and releases a weak, shuddering breath – but he doesn't say anything. He understands all too well how Stark feels; thinks he could explode from the intensity of having his suffocating grief wiped from his body so suddenly.

" _Never_ do that to us again," Stark mutters under his breath, the words being carried by the surrounding, unnatural silence. Sam doesn't hear Steve's response, but his heart twists a little at the knowledge that no matter what he says, it's not a promise he can guarantee.

They pull apart eventually, and the four of them are left catching their breath, trying to make sense of the sudden stillness. In the end, it's Bucky who comes out and asks the question playing on their minds.

"What happened?"

Tony looks over to Bucky, his expression unreadable as his eyes wander over the ruined arm. Any hint of his old thirst for vengeance melts away in an instant, however, as he adorns a disbelieving smile and looks around at their surroundings.

"We won."

Sam can do little more than breathe out a short "huh". Looking around at the deserted, war-torn streets, it doesn't really feel like they've won. Even with their impressive allies and willingness to fight to the bitter end, he'd never really believed that winning was a goal they could achieve, and even with those wonderful words out in the open, denial still clings to him like a disease.

The sky is clear though. The distant sounds of battle have ceased. The Mind Stone's effects have vanished and Steve is here, alive and whole in a way Sam hadn't dared dream he would ever be again, and both he and Bucky have survived hell together.

The aftermath isn't going to be easy. It never is. A lot of people have died, a lot of homes have been destroyed, and the trauma of Thanos's assault isn't something that can be easily forgotten.

Sam thinks he can live with that though.

It's not long before he closes his eyes, rests his head against Bucky's shoulder, and lets the tension of the past weeks simply drift away into dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this story absolutely refuses to end, ten chapters will now be eleven (including an epilogue). I think I've gotten a little carried away...
> 
> Thanks again for all of your feedback. I really appreciate it! I'm sorry for the pain of the last two chapters; hopefully this one makes up for it a little.


	10. Chapter 10

The immediate aftermath of their victory passes in a shared blur, in which no-one seems to be able to comprehend that the fight is over. All news coverage that Sam sees is just endless footage of reporters trying to dissect events they don't fully understand, and even when their small quartet finally catches up with the rest of the Avengers, most would rather just fall into bed and sleep for a week than give a detailed report of what happened.

It's what most of them end up doing; after Sam reassures himself with a quick head-count and realises that, miraculously, everyone made it, he advises that they rest up and leave any attempt at making sense of their situation for later. It surprises him that they listen to him so willingly, as if the Captain America mantle has promoted him to leadership even while he has an arm wrapped around Steve, but that's yet another detail he can focus on later. For now, he desperately needs to sleep.

A brief flight in the quinjet takes the Avengers, sans Bruce and Thor and their newer allies, silently back to the underground base they've adopted as their own, and Sam finds himself mindlessly wandering to the quarters he and Bucky have shared for two weeks. He should probably go to medical first, or at the very least take a shower, but the only thing that motivates him to take a single step is the promise of a warm bed.

Their quarters seem smaller than he remembers, although the fact that Steve is now with them likely doesn't help. The lack of a third bed doesn't even seem to cross their minds as an issue though, as Bucky and Steve simply collapse together on a bed that is far too small to comfortably hold them both, and they don't even bother pulling the covers over themselves before the only sound that emerges from them is a soft snoring. Sam pours all his amusement at the situation into a quiet smirk, collapsing into his own bed and for once finding comfort in its once-smothering softness.

The fact that he's covered in sweat and dust and blood only bothers him for a moment before he slips into the most restful night's sleep he's had in weeks.

* * *

The first hour of what should be a serious meeting delving into the intricacies of how they won a seemingly unwinnable war, and whether similar threats are likely to plague them in future, is mostly wasted on relieved hugs, with Steve understandably getting the brunt of it. Natasha ends up hugging him for a solid three minutes before pulling both Sam and Bucky into her arms with surprising strength, lowering her voice to whisper " _Look after him for me_ ," in their ears before wandering back to Clint and resting her head on his shoulder in a rare display of exhaustion.

Looking over to his suddenly not-dead friend, it's easy to see why she's concerned. Despite them all managing to get a solid six hours of sleep, dark circles still line Steve's eyes while his posture has slipped into a weary slouch, and though he's capable of smiling, it never quite reaches his eyes. He'd been able to grab a quick shower before heading to the boardroom, so at least the layer of blood and grime is gone, but it's difficult for Sam to shake the images of yesterday out of his head.

He puts off thinking about such things and spends time catching up with as many people as he can. As he wanders around the room, he overhears Scott excitedly telling the young, seemingly out of his depth, Peter Parker about some incredible moves he'd been able to let loose in the battle; he sees Rhodey and Tony sitting together in the corner, talking quietly and sharing the warm smiles they reserve only for each other; he shakes hands with Clint before pulling him into a firm hug, and lets himself laugh when the archer asks "So, you think I'll actually be able to retire now?"

Wanda sits quietly beside T'Challa, seeming understandably drained considering she was among those who delivered a final, fatal blow upon Thanos (apparently, he'd been surprisingly easy to kill when several angry gods had relieved him of his precious Infinity Stones), while the man beside her shares a private smile with Sam, somehow maintaining his grace when everyone else is making no secret of the fact that they'd happily spend a year in bed.

It's a shame when the formal conversation finally starts, even though Sam must admit that being able to piece together the events of yesterday makes him feel a little less clueless. From what he hears, the bulk of the alien army was wiped out by their Asgardian allies, while smaller parties of Avengers including Sam and Bucky, Natasha and Clint, and T'Challa, Rhodey and Tony scouted the surrounding streets for those that escaped.

Once the army was destroyed, besides the odd leftovers, half of their efforts had gone towards containing the threat of the mind-controlled civilians (which was thankfully achieved without casualties as a result of Sam's advance warning) while the other half, mostly made up of the more super-powered among them, doubled down on Thanos in order to separate him from his prized collection before wiping him out. Somehow, through the combined efforts of an Asgardian army, the Guardians of the Galaxy, the Hulk, and Wanda, this had been achieved and the Infinity Gems had been neutralised, releasing the Mind Stone's victims and rendering Thanos - though not exactly weak - no longer indestructible and heavily outnumbered.

Once their enemy had fallen and they'd been able to recover the imprisoned Doctor Strange and use the Mind Stone to reanimate Vision, they'd been left standing in the quiet of the aftermath along with everyone else, asking themselves what the hell was supposed to happen now.

It seems that there's not going to be an easy answer to that.

It's when Steve starts talking that Sam realises that as hellish as his two weeks of grief had been, he at least hadn't been alone.

He listens with a clenched jaw as Steve recollects his fight with Thanos back in New York; how he'd known going in that it'd be a losing battle; how he'd been ready to die after being mercilessly beaten, only for Thanos to use him as the first test-subject of his newly acquired Mind Stone. He'd spent two weeks trapped within his own mind, forced to watch Thanos's reign of terror upon the Earth and the glee he took in taunting the Avengers, and when he was finally released into the open it was solely on the condition that he slaughter his friends; an order he'd been powerless to refuse.

Sam sees Bucky edge closer to Steve as he speaks, as if daring anyone else to hurt him, and he finds himself silently promising that nothing will tear them apart like that again.

There's not much else to say before long, and their small group are left sitting quietly around the table, uncertainty clinging to them like a bratty child. It's Tony who eventually dares ask "What happens now?", although even that question is met with stunned silence for a few too many minutes.

Sam knows what he wants to do - dreams of his warm bed and a shower - but he also knows that he's in a position of responsibility now and that their bitter fight hasn't only affected the people in this room. There are potentially millions of civilians to look after and guide through the aftermath of a war they don't entirely understand, and like it or not, the Avengers can't simply go home and leave them to deal with the wreckage alone.

The clean-up operations and rebuilding of devastated cities will take months or even years. However, as Sam looks at the friends surrounding him, eventually focussing on Steve and Bucky's undaunted expressions, he knows that it's a responsibility they're all willing to take on.

* * *

The weeks that follow are rarely quiet, but at the very least Sam's starting to feel like things are returning to normal.

He spends every day working alongside Steve and Bucky and a vast number of civilian volunteers as they clean up and start the rebuilding efforts on the streets of New York, bringing food and medicine and clothing to shelters every morning. Across the world, small pockets of Avengers are doing the same in similarly affected areas. Surprisingly, some of Thor's lot and even the Guardians have stayed to help – with Peter Quill using their efforts as an excuse to explore the home he hasn't seen since he was a child – and Doctor Strange has recruited yet more sorcerers to put their eccentric gifts to good use.

Stark has made quick work in setting up a foundation to help the families of victims across the world as well as those who lost everything in the destruction, pouring millions from his own pocket into it as a starting point while generous donations from all over the world start to build up as well. He's also made good on his peace-offering to Bucky, taking him aside after their meeting and offering to fix his shattered arm.

Sam tries to be subtle as he waits outside the lab where the two are holed up for hours, knowing that his fears are likely irrational but still unable to shake the events of Siberia from his mind, but he quickly learns that any worry he has is for nothing.

He watches, incredulous, as the two emerge from the lab exchanging scatter-gun conversation, a shiny repaired arm at Bucky's side. Stark acts like an excitable puppy as he goes into intricate detail about the prosthetic's mechanics and the science behind the synthetic nerve endings, and Bucky nods along and asks intelligent questions in response, clearly knowing a lot more on the subject than Sam does.

(It's the first time he realises what a massive science-nerd Bucky is, and it provides him with birthday and Christmas present ideas for at least ten years)

Steve spends a lot of time with Clint and Bucky – both veterans of mind control though that's not a title either would take pride in – and Sam for his part leaves them be. There are some things he never wants to understand in detail, and the pain of watching your own hands hurt the people you love is one of those. He sees enough of the brutality such experiences can cause in the way either Bucky or Steve will wake up in the middle of the night, fighting for breath and haunted by past demons.

Sam's not sure he's willing to comprehend much more than that.

* * *

"I'm surprised you haven't adopted Star Lord yet."

Sam takes a second to scoff instinctively at Peter Quill's preferred title before looking over to Bucky with a raised, questioning eyebrow.

It's early in the morning and they're helping the elderly owners of a local homeless shelter provide hot food and supplies to their many residents. They're both suited up, and Sam's still getting used to his own version of the Captain America uniform (while Steve still wears his old one, he seems genuinely happy to share the mantle with someone else and so Sam's new title has stuck), but he feels his heart lift a little when excited children approach and ask endless questions. For the most part the parents don't seem to mind; if anything, their presence helps alleviate the boredom that many of the children must be experiencing throughout the day.

"Why would I adopt Quill?" he asks, as he hands over a warm cup of soup to a tiny elderly woman. "Hell, why would I want to adopt anyone?"

"I don't know," Bucky says with a shrug. "I just assumed that adopting clueless saps with zero knowledge of recent pop culture was your thing."

"Ha ha, asshole," Sam says, before uttering a short apology to the young mother in front of him who darts her eyes to the small girl at her side. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Stark's taken care of that. Last time I saw Quill he was singing AC/DC at the top of his lungs."

"Huh," Bucky says, as he passes two cups of tea over to an older couple with a warm smile that is returned without hesitation. If the war has been good for anything, Sam thinks, it's at least shifted the world's perception of Bucky so that they see him in the same light he and Steve do. "I'm not sure I ever got around to them."

"Seriously? _Thunderstruck? Highway to Hell? Back in Black?_ They don't ring any bells?"

Bucky muses for a moment before shaking his head, and Sam mentally decides to update their playlist sometime soon.

"Well then, you are in for a treat," Sam promises. "It won't be long before you're following in 'Star Lord's' footsteps and dancing to them like the embarrassing white guy at a wedding."

That gets Bucky to release a full-bodied laugh, and it hits Sam that it's a sight he hasn't seen for a while. Hell, a normal conversation like this has been a rarity lately, and he's surprised at how nostalgic he feels to share a laugh with a friend.

They hand out the remainder of the food over the next hour and leave the owners of the shelter with the promise that they'll come round again the next morning, before heading off to another shelter several blocks away.

"You know, I've missed this," Bucky says, as they wander along surprisingly intact streets. It's been a while since Sam has seen a built-up area that hasn't been assaulted by countless aliens; he can almost pretend that there isn't an abandoned wreckage only a few streets away and that they're simply taking a stroll along the city, albeit a surprisingly quiet one.

"What, us being dicks to each other?" Sam asks, although in spite of his jest, he understands what Bucky's getting at. He feels a familiar pride when his friend laughs in response, his eyes crinkling as the smile reaches his eyes. It's one of those sights that's been giving him small nuggets of hope over the last few weeks; the promise that they're capable of healing.

"Yeah actually," Bucky says before looking towards Sam, suddenly bashful. "Is that bad?"

"No, course not," Sam replies, dropping all teasing pretence and giving Bucky a genuine smile of his own. "I've missed this too."

* * *

As nice as it is to pretend that they're well on their way to healing, spending their nights in the same room as they await allocation to a more permanent apartment is enough to confirm that they all have ghosts clinging to their minds. Waking up to screams or wordless thrashing or the feeling of being yanked from a nightmare that feels a little too real has become routine for all three of them.

Bucky's ghosts stretch from snowy mountains in wartime Europe to blown apart streets in New York and D.C. and seem to encompass everything in-between. More than once he's awoken with tears streaming down his face and spent the rest of the night clinging to Steve, half-asleep and resting his head deliberately over the man's heartbeat.

Steve's ghosts stem from those dreaded two weeks. Sam spends more time than he'd like having to convince a barely-conscious Steve that both he and Bucky are alive after the man has just witnessed his own hands killing them both.

As for Sam's own, well, there's only so many times he can dwell on the sheer numbers of casualties from the full duration of the war before he dreams of an endless horde of the dead, clawing at his throat and demanding to know why he didn't do enough to save them.

It's Steve's turn tonight to wake up with shuddering, painful breaths, rousing Bucky in the process and waking Sam seconds later. They've gotten to the point where their response is instinctive; Bucky will hold Steve's hand and encourage him to take deep breaths, while Sam pushes the twin beds together and climbs in beside Steve, making sure the other man can see that he's alive and well.

"Shh," Bucky whispers as Steve starts to calm, his breaths hitching less often as wet eyes cross from the ceiling to the faces of the men beside him. "It's okay, we're here. We're still here.

"I tried to…" Steve starts, the words coming out in a painful gasp, and Bucky returns to his deep rhythmic breathing, encouraging Steve to do the same. "I killed you both."

"That wasn't you," Sam reminds him, because it's something Steve's sleeping mind tends to forget. "And we're okay." He takes Steve's hand and places it over his own chest, encouraging him to feel the strong heart beneath his shirt. "See? Still beating."

It takes a few minutes for Steve's breathing to return to normal, for him to clench his eyes shut and take a deep, steady breath that indicates that he's finally awake, and it isn't long before the only sound he makes is a whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Bucky says, more soothingly than Sam had once thought him capable of, as he brushes sweaty strands of hair away from Steve's forehead. "I wasn't planning on getting much sleep tonight anyway."

Steve laughs weakly, the last dregs of his nightmare fading away as he sits up against the headboard. Sam and Bucky let themselves relax as well and lie down beside him, the trio barely fitting on their combined beds. It wouldn't be the first time they just decided to fall back to sleep with their beds still joined; most of the time it's more comforting that way.

"I miss the good old days," Sam says eventually, filling the silence with the kind of mundane conversation that seems to help them all relax after dealing with one of their episodes. Some nights they'll just try to go straight back to sleep, especially if the following day promises to be eventful, but if not then there's a lot of peace to be found simply in the sound of each other's voices. "Remember when Bucky and I hated each other's guts and you admitted you hadn't seen The Godfather? Good times."

His words have the desired effect, in that Steve and Bucky both start to laugh quietly, breaking the tension that always permeates the air after a nightmare. It's the only sign Sam needs to know that they're going to be okay, for the rest of the night at least.

"Sam," Steve says, looking over to him with a mischievous smirk that's barely visible in the dark. "I have a confession to make."

"What, seriously? Still?!" Sam asks, only half-joking in his shock. On Steve's other side, Bucky starts to cackle, clearly enjoying his incredulity, but Sam decides to keep his barrage of insults aimed at the man to himself. "Christ, imagine if you'd actually died without seeing The Godfather. Now _there's_ a tragedy…"

"Don't you think you're giving it a little too much credit?" Bucky interjects, and Sam playfully huffs because of course he'd take Steve's side. "Poor guy's going to end up disappointed if you keep raising his expectations."

"I guarantee you won't be," Sam tells Steve, and the man simply shrugs in response, aware that the argument's out of his hands. "That's it. As soon as we have free time I am tying you to a chair and you are going to watch both of them."

"Wait, aren't there three of those movies?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah, but only the first two matter."

Steve laughs, and Sam holds onto the sound as if it's something precious. It wasn't too long ago that he thought he'd never hear it again after all, and now he knows that small moments like this are something he needs to cherish. He's gotten a second chance with Steve that he never got with Riley; he's certainly not going to waste it.

"Okay, you win," Steve says, once his laughter at the bickering between Sam and Bucky dies down. "As soon as we have some free time, we're watching The Godfather."

Sam dramatically punches the air in victory while purposefully ignoring Bucky's offhand remark of "We're not going to have free time for about five years though."

His job is done, the tension has been lifted and the horrors that lurk in their sleeping minds forgotten, and he thinks he could drift off into a dreamless rest now without having to face the people he failed to save.

The temptation overwhelms him eventually, as his head starts to rest against Steve's shoulder, and though he hears the other two continuing a quiet conversation, they seem to lower their voices for his benefit. He hadn't realised how tired he is, but it's not the all-encompassing weariness he'd been forced to adapt to only a few months ago, and he finds it easy to drift as his friends' voices lull him to sleep.

They'll be okay in the end, he thinks. They may be a little scarred and fractured, but they've survived too much to shatter now. He's not one for indulging in the fantasy that he's invincible, has suffered too much loss in the past for this to be the case, but in this quiet moment, with his friends by his side, he finds it's nice to pretend that nothing more can hurt them.

The end of the line will simply have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're nearly at the end. I have the epilogue written and I only need to do a final edit before I can put it up too. Hopefully that should only take a few hours.
> 
> Thank you so much for your response to this story, and for being patient as it ran away with me. It's been fun to write even though it's taken over my life a little! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well as the one coming up :)


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end... Thank you so much for reading this story and for all of your feedback! I hope you enjoy this brief epilogue :)

It takes a surprisingly long time for them to return to Wakanda together.

To be fair, the long wait isn't done on purpose. Their roles as Avengers seem to dictate their presence in the United States especially in the harsh aftermath of Thanos's invasion, when most of their efforts are concentrated on rebuilding cities from the ground up and eventually undergoing countless inquiries into the role their team plays in a post-Civil War, post-Thanos world. It takes years for Sam to even let himself dream of travelling or having time which is entirely his own, but he can't complain too much when he always has his friends nearby and he's able to watch the world slowly heal from its wounds.

The invitation to return to their old haven was extended by T'Challa the day he returned to his country to serve as king once more, and it's remained open all these years. Their old friend seems quite amused that it has taken them so long to take him up on the offer, but his kindness and hospitality don't seem to have changed much over his years of leadership and they've been informed that they're free to stay as long as they want.

T'Challa's not the only one who hasn't changed.

"You two are the biggest assholes I know," Sam says between pants, as he trails behind Steve and Bucky on their ascent through the wild forests. At his words, they at least have the decency to stop and wait, but he notices the amused glint in their eyes as he approaches them and shakes his head in mock disapproval. "Whatever happened to respecting your elders?"

Steve laughs, before extending a hand out to him and helping him up a particularly steep portion of the hill. Sam tries to hide his slight breathlessness; he's still reasonably fit considering he's made it to his early seventies, but that doesn't mean he makes a habit out of scaling muddy slopes. "We're older than you Sam, remember?"

"I'll believe that when you start to look like it," Sam says with a wink, before they set off again towards the clearing which rests upon the hilltop; a thin strip of sunlight through the trees acting as a guide. He notices that his friends seem to be making an effort to keep pace with him, and he quietly smiles in gratitude.

It's unnerving sometimes, how little Steve and Bucky have changed over the years. Sam had started to notice when jokes about them being a married trio - otherwise known as 'The Golden Trio' in Stark's words or 'The Three Caps' in Nat's - had slowly started to turn into jokes about him being the adoptive father of two unruly children, and now their seemingly endless youth strikes a vast contrast to his own lined face and greying hair. They're not ageless of course – Sam had quite a lot of fun on the day Bucky started to notice his own grey hairs coming through – but it's undeniable that they're ageing far slower than he is.

Not that he minds. Outliving his friends has never been an option he wants to face again, and besides, he's healthy enough that he likely has a couple more decades left in him. Perhaps he'll live to see permanent laughter-lines adorn his friends' faces yet.

"Y'know, we could carry you up if your legs are getting tired," Bucky jokes, and his only response to Sam throwing him a rude hand gesture is a hearty laugh. The exchange reminds Sam of the first time they ventured through these forests, back when they were still finding their feet in getting to know each other, and nostalgia washes over him like a warm hug.

The rest of their trek passes in near-silence. Sam ignores the mild aches in his legs and focusses on the beauty surrounding him; the twisted tree roots beneath his feet and the unearthly shadows the green leaves above cast against the ground, while thin trunks seem to stretch for miles into the sky. There's the occasional rustle of leaves or howls in the distance that suggests nearby wildlife, and while the sounds should probably be creepy in the darkness of the forest, Sam finds he cannot be afraid with two super-soldiers in his company.

The leaves above act as a protective shield against the scorching sun, but Sam finds himself wiping the sweat from his face anyway as humidity and the effort of climbing catches up with him. He's looking forward to being able to sit and drink a bottle of water as he takes in Wakanda's unrivalled landscapes. He misses the sight of them more than he'd expected to.

As they emerge into the sunlight, Sam realises that the view has barely changed in all these years. There's the occasional glint of solar panels among the tiny villages and Sam thinks he sees a couple more farms than was present in his memories, but aside from that the image remains timeless; the picturesque fields being hugged by the surrounding mountains while the sun shines warmly overhead. He takes a seat on the dry, brown grass of the clearing and closes his eyes, soaking in the sun and pretending for a moment that he's a young man in his thirties again.

"You two weren't lying," Steve says, breathless, as he sits on Sam's left with his eyes darting across the world in front of them. "It's beautiful up here."

"Yeah it is," Bucky agrees, taking a seat of his own and leaning back as the warm breeze blows across their faces. "You remember when we said we'd live out our days as hermits up here, Sam?"

He has to take a moment to think about that before the conversation comes back to him, and he lets out a short laugh. That was back when he'd never wanted to leave the safety of Wakanda; wanted to be surrounded by the forests and the mountains and the fields forever as he lived out his life in peace.

Considering all that he experienced as soon as he left the country, it's not a sentiment he can blame himself for having.

"Yeah, I remember. Though I'm pretty sure when I imagined it, we both had long beards."

"Hey, there's still time for that," Bucky says with a smirk. Sam chooses not to admit that staying here forever remains an attractive prospect even now. "Hey, you remember the present I gave you the day after?"

Of course he does. The useless plastic medal still lives in a box somewhere back in his apartment. In all these years, he hasn't had the heart to throw it away.

"Yeah I do, asshole," he says, punching Bucky lightly on the arm when the man starts to snigger. He realises it's a mistake when his hand collides with metal and Steve starts to join in with their laughter. Sam turns and sees a knowing expression on Steve's face and realises that his forty-year-old theory that Steve had as much say in that present as Bucky did has finally been confirmed. It's too late to be annoyed by that however, and it isn't long before he's joining in with their uncontrollable giggles.

Forty years. Time's passed them by so quickly.

It's strange to look back on his life and realise how truly extraordinary it's been; how he's battled corrupt government agencies and aliens and even his friends; how he's adorned the mantle of Captain America – a title much older than he is – before eventually sharing it with both men sitting with him today.

It's been a while since he hung up the shield for good, but Bucky and Steve will still pick it up now and again when the occasion calls for it.

More clearly however, he remembers the lighter moments he's been able to share with his strange band of friends. Remembers countless movie nights where he would fight over popcorn with Natasha and Clint; remembers the pride he'd felt when he witnessed a little girl in a Scarlet Witch outfit approach Wanda in the park and call her a hero, and how Wanda had finally been able to believe that she was no longer something to be feared; remembers countless hours spent in the lab with Tony, Rhodey and Bucky, picking up more information about science and engineering than he'd ever learned in school. He remembers the whole group of them showing up to the graduation of Scott's daughter, Cassie, and seeing T'Challa become revered worldwide as the strong king they all knew him to be.

There are many more treasures in his past than he ever expected to have, enough to vanquish his trauma when ghosts try to haunt him on bad days, but more than anything he appreciates that after all this time he still has his best friends by his side.

He looks to Steve and Bucky before following their gazes out to the miles of countryside before them, losing himself in the heat and the beauty of the haven where their long friendship as three brothers in arms started.

It's nice to be home.


End file.
